


If They Stuck Together

by KinoKahn



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, M/M, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinoKahn/pseuds/KinoKahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories based around the idea that Nezumi kept visiting Shion after that stormy September night instead of disappearing for four years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bunk Beds (Age 12)

**Author's Note:**

> When Davey first watched No.6, it was all alone on Christmas Eve. She’d seen Jana’s gifs of it on the tumblz so the first episode was a series of “Oh, that’s cute, she giffed that. Yes, they are in love, it’s precious because they’re twelve.” Then Davey moved on to the second episode. “Who is this brown-haired loser? Where’d Nezumi go? Karan’s still living with them whaaaat?” In a haze of trying to figure out where the last four years went, Davey imagined that Shion and Nezumi were living together in Karan’s bakery, on the run from The Law or some shit. This was slowly and painfully disproved. “Nezumi didn’t even call for four years? He’s a terrible boyfriend, Shion, dump his sweet ass!”  
> Anyway, Davey’s feels aside, this is basically what Davey and Jana think would have happened if Nezumi had popped up repeatedly over that four-year timespan. Alternately, it’s Davey (and Jana?) reliving childhood as a pair of twelve-year-old boys.  
> (Side note: this semi-AU is based off the No.6 anime, not the manga or novels)

Nezumi is curled up on Shion’s sweater-vest when Shion rolls over and looks around. Nezumi is awake but still tucked in a ball. He doesn’t move unless he has to, Shion knows that now. Nezumi likes being asleep.

“What are you doing over there?” Shion asks around an enormous yawn. The sounds he makes are mostly vowels. “I told you you can sleep on my mattress if you want. You did it the first time. I don’t mind.”

Nezumi sits up and stretches like a cat. “I mind. You kick.”  
“Really? I’m sorry—”

“And your new bed’s so much smaller than your old one,” Nezumi says, ignoring the fact that it was his fault Shion and Karan were forced out of that particular home. 

Shion grins behind his hand at that little oversight, then rolls himself off his mattress. Sleeping on the floor is supposed to be bad for him, but Shion likes how close he is to the ground. “Get off my sweater, Nezumi,” he says, pushing at the other boy. “It’s going to be all wrinkly now.”

“Oh nooooo,” Nezumi whines, pulling a face of mock horror. “You’ll look dirty for that shitty school you go to!”

“Language,” sighs Shion, shaking out his sweater vest. “It’s not a bad school.” He starts pulling off his pajamas.

“You’re too smart for it, though. And I know that the other kids know it. And I know what that means.” Nezumi looks pointedly at a fading bruise on Shon’s ribs, then frowns at what look like fingermarks on Shion’s upper arm. ”Are those new?”

“What time did you get in last night?” Shion changes the subject as he pulls on his shirt. Nezumi can’t go to school with him, Safu hasn’t even tried to contact him, the other kids at school dislike him aggressively, and dwelling on any of these facts makes his stomach hurt.

Nezumi shrugs. “I dunno. Around one, maybe two.”

“That’s really late! Where were you? You haven’t been around for a few days.”

“I had shit to do.”

“Language.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s also bad language.”

“Christ, will you shut up already?” Nezumi’s smirking though. 

“I have to put on new pants,” Shion tells him, “turn around.”

Nezumi spins to face the other way, his shaggy hair swinging. “Can I use your sink?” 

“Um, sure. Just be quick.” Shion sits down on his bed and pulls out one of the books on botany he checked out of the public library. He starts reading through the Latin names, trying to figure out what the word roots mean based on what he knows about the trees. It’s his favorite game at the moment. Nezumi snickers at him every time he does it, but right now he’s washing himself in the sink. Shion has to stay down here in case Karan starts wondering why someone is running the water in the laundry room.

Nezumi comes out only a few minutes later, face no longer dirt-stained and hair no longer greasy. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Shion ducks into the bathroom, gets his hair wet, then steps out. “I’ll tell Mom I’m extra-hungry because I have a test today and I need to study in my room.”

Nezumi smiles. “Is she making pancakes?”

“It’s breakfast muffins that are too ugly to sell and you know it,” Shion says, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Nezumi’s asleep again by the time Shion gets back with four muffins, a fried egg, and orange juice. This time he’s sleeping in Shion’s bed, getting the pillow wet with his hair. Shion puts everything on the floor, eats one muffin while playing the Latin game again, then packs his backpack and leaves quietly, shutting the door tightly behind him. He stops right outside the door. Shion sleeps in the bakery storeroom. His mother might need to get something out of there today. He tries to think of what she would need. Flour? She’s always running low on that. Shion ducks back in and drags a bag of flour behind him, gasping at how heavy it is, then leaves it at the top of the stairs.

“Are you going to school now, Shion?” his mother calls from the front room. He can see that she’s serving a few of his classmates last-minute scones. They’ve spotted him and are starting to smirk.

“Yeah!” he says. “I’ll see you tonight!”

“Come in here!” she says before he can escape. He sighs, then ducks into the front room, smiling. She smiles back, then kisses his forehead. His classmates titter. Shion tries very hard not to blush as he flees for school. He knows he can’t run from them forever, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get away.

 

Shion shows up back home with footprints on his backpack but no visible marks on his person, so at least Karan doesn’t ask awkward questions. He tells her school went well and that he has a lot of homework to do. As he ducks into his room, he notices the bag of flour he brought up was opened. Good thing he thought to do that before he left. 

He’s still congratulating himself when he opens the door to his room and finds that he is now the proud owner of a bunk bed. He stares. His mattress is on the top, worn sheets tucked in neatly, and there’s a brand new mattress (new to him at least) on the bottom bunk, also made up in his mother’s distinctively clean-cut way. 

“Oh,” Shion says, but then doesn’t say anything else because all the words that he wants to say he learned from Nezumi and are not nice words. 

He was an idiot to think he could keep a secret like Nezumi from Karan.

But…

As he thinks about it more, Shion realizes that this doesn’t mean Nezumi can’t stay. She bought him a bunk bed. That means she wants Shion to have Nezumi stay over. Maybe she doesn’t even know about Nezumi at all. Maybe she thinks he has friends and they want to have a sleepover. 

Maybe.

Probably not.

Shion plops his bag down, dusts it off a little so the footprints aren’t so obvious, then darts back upstairs. “Wow, Mom! A bunk bed! Wow! Thank you!”

Karan smiles down at him, eyes crinkled with delight. “Of course, Shion! You’re growing up now, you need a better bed than the one you had. I hope you like it!” She kisses his forehead and he hugs her tightly before running back downstairs. He stares at his bed and then cautiously climbs to the top bunk. It’s a strange view and it proves again that his room is much, much smaller than the one he had when he was on the intellectual fast track of No. 6. Shion scrambles down and sits on the floor to do his homework. The bed looms. Shion looks up at it from time to time, unable to ignore it.

When Shion comes back down the stairs after dinner, Nezumi’s climbing in the window. He looks up when he hears Shion open the door, then freezes. His eyes glide over the bunk bed. “What the fuck is this.”

“Language, and I don’t know!” Shion hisses, shutting his door behind him. “I came home and there were bunk beds! Aren’t they great?” He smiles at his top bunk. “Now you can stay over all the time! Do you think Mom knows about you?”

Nezumi waves an arm at the beds. “I think it’s fairly obvious, you airhead!” Nezumi growls like a dog, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I didn’t ask her for anything!”

Shion sighs, deflating. “I know.”

“I don’t ask you for anything either!”

“I know that.”

“I don’t need you people,” Nezumi snaps, suddenly moving back towards the window. “I don’t need your fucking charity.” He hops up on a few stacked crates that Shion dragged over to make it easier for him to reach. 

“Wait!” Shion says, lurching forward. A bruise on his hip twinges enough to make him stagger, but he manages to grab Nezumi’s arm before the boy can escape.

Shion should expect this by now. Nezumi pitches him onto the bed, making it skid a few screaming inches. Shion blinks up at the slats of the bed above him for a second, disoriented. By the time he sits up, Nezumi is gone.

 

Shion stares at the ceiling, only a few feet from his head. He can’t see it in the dark but he knows it’s there. He feels too tall. He hasn’t slept well in a week, and it’s not even the bed’s fault. The room is small without Nezumi. 

It doesn’t make sense, he knows that, but Nezumi gives him a feeling of space. He felt claustrophobic when he was learning things at the big fancy school in the center of No. 6 and winning awards for how smart he was. Now that he’s living in a cramped bakery with his mother and going to, yes, a shitty school (it doesn’t count if the swear is only in his head), he feels free. Nezumi did this for him. And now maybe he’s gone forever.

The window squeaks a little; that’s the only warning Shion has. He looks around, then feels someone swing into the bed next to him, chilly hands shoving him against the railing of his bed. “Ow! Nezumi?”

“Duh.”

“You were gone a whole week this time!”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

“Where were you?”

“Around.”

Shion frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” There is a pause that Shion decides not to fill. Nezumi is radiating cold. It’s winter now. November. Over two months since they first met. After a moment, Nezumi lets out a small sigh that Shion now recognizes as a signal that Nezumi is asleep. Shion shifts slightly under his blankets and knees Nezumi awake.

“Hmwah?”

“You have your own bed now,” Shion points out. “You don’t have to sleep on my little mattress anymore.”

“S’fine for now,” Nezumi mutters. He sighs again and this time Shion lets him sleep.

THE END


	2. Dress Up (Age 12)

Shion’s home sick today. Nezumi knows this because he heard Shion coughing all last night, even through the pillow he crammed over his ears at three in the morning. Nezumi sighed and booked it out of there at five, before Karan woke up to her son hacking up his lungs. He was careful to make his bed before he left, fluffing the pillow until it looked like it hadn’t been abused. It is well and truly winter now, so Nezumi kept moving to make sure he didn’t freeze to death. There were only a few errands he had to run in the city, so he snuck back to the bakery that afternoon. Just to see if it was worth trying to sleep there tonight.

Shion’s reading his plant books again, murmuring to himself. It sounds like another language. Nezumi drops down as lightly as he can onto the crates under the window, then hauls himself up the side of the bunk bed to Shion’s level.

“Oh!” Shion’s shock turns to a smile almost immediately, but his grin gets lost as he starts hacking again.

Nezumi leans out of the spray. “Hey. You sound like shit.”

“Language,” Shion says, like he always does. “Did I keep you up last night?”

“Yeah.” Nezumi leans away from more coughing. “Is your mom here?”

“She had to,” Shion gasps for breath for a moment. Nezumi’s brow wrinkles. “She had to deliver. Some things.”

“You need water or something?”

“I’ll be fine. Give me a minute.” Shion rests his head on his knees, textbook closed on his limp fingers so he won’t lose his place. “I forget how much it sucks. Being sick.”

“Yeah, that sounds awful,” Nezumi says. “Hey, can I see the rest of this place?”

Shion looks up. “Um. Sure.” He blinks slowly. “I’m not much of a tour guide right now. And we can’t go in the kitchen part. I don’t want to cough all over Mom’s baking supplies.”

“That’s fine, I just want to see a bit more of your house.” Nezumi has one escape route at the moment and that fact has been weighing heavily on his mind. A basement window should be a last resort, not an only option. He needs a layout and then maybe he can stop having such vivid nightmares whenever he’s back in West Block. He never really seems to have them here, but they are haunting. Dreams of fire and men with guns.

“Let’s go,” Nezumi says, yanking Shion’s blankets off of him and then jumping off the top bunk, his bare feet slapping the concrete floor.

“Wait up,” Shion wheezes, crawling down the ladder. 

 

The bakery is full of light, with the sun twinkling on flour dust motes. Bread is just begging to be eaten all around him, and he sees some tantalizing cakes on display, but Nezumi stays away from all the windows. It wouldn’t pay to get caught just because he didn’t avoid the neighbors. Nezumi focuses on memorizing where the front door is and where the windows lead. “Nice.”

“Thanks,” Shion says, leaning against the door frame. “The kitchen’s behind me. My mom sleeps upstairs.”

“Can I see?” Nezumi asks. He wonders if any of the roofs around here are within jumping distance. A quick peek into the kitchen while he waits for Shion to drag himself, coughing, up the steps reveals that there is only one door that probably leads to the alleyway in the back of the bakery. Nezumi follows Shion upstairs. 

There are two doors on a small landing and Shion waves at one. “That’s to our balcony. Customers sit then when it’s pretty out. Too cold right now. This is mom’s room.” Shion pushes open the other door.

Karan’s room is spartan. Shion and his mom have the bare minimum, and Nezumi spots a few cracks in their mugs and scratches on their table. Her room also seems to be a dining area. It’s a far cry from where Nezumi lives, but it’s also pretty far from what they’d had before he showed up.

There is a door to a little terrace, and then a cabinet that seems surprisingly tall… “What’s in here?” Nezumi tries the handle.

“Oh, that’s—” Shion stops to cough again, sitting down at the low table so he can catch his breath, and Nezumi yanks the door open. “That’s my mom’s wardrobe.”

Nezumi blinks at the nearly-empty box. “What’s a wardrobe?” There’s only ladies’ clothing in here, and a few pairs of high heels that are much lower than the stilettos he sees around West Block. He picks at the fabric of one dress, then pulls it off its hanger and holds it up. This one seems like it would cover a lot more than the dresses where he’s from.

“It’s a place for storing clothes,” Shion murmurs. Nezumi turns around. The other boy is almost asleep, huddled behind the dining table, his eyes mere slits. At least he isn’t coughing any more.

Nezumi looks back at the dress. It’s pale blue. It looks beautiful in his grubby fingers. He thinks for a moment, glances back at a now-sleeping Shion, then starts stripping off his clothes.

 

He is, of course, too small for it. The neckline gapes around his shoulders, so he lets it slip down and expose them. It restricts the amount he can move his arms, but dresses aren’t practical—that’s been fairly obvious. The dress should hang to his knees, but instead it hangs to his calves. He dislikes how his feet look, bare and dirt-stained, so he digs through the bottom of the closet until he finds a pair of sensible grey shoes with a strap around the ankle. He buckles them on and brushes his hair out of his eyes in order to look in the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. Then brushes his hair away again. His bangs keep falling in his eyes.

Paranoid suddenly, very aware that he’s wearing a strange woman’s clothing, Nezumi peers around and sees yet another door (how many rooms did they need?). This one leads to a bathroom. Nezumi can tell it’s a bathroom, even though there seem to be a lot of sleek lines and tiles everywhere instead of just a tub and a bucket. He runs his hands over everything, puzzled by some of the materials, until he finds that the mirror opens, swinging on a hinge and revealing Karan’s makeup stash.

“Hm,” Nezumi says, toying with a tube of lipstick. This can’t be difficult. Even whores manage to do something right most of the time. Nezumi can figure this out. There’s a handful of hairpins behind the mirror as well as the makeup, and Nezumi uses a few to tuck his unruly hair out of the way. Then he gets down to business.

The lipstick is far too much fun to use. He plays with the outline of his lips, making them wider and wider, then wipes it all off and carefully works within the lines. This lipstick is a much lighter pink than the ladies of West Block use. Nezumi spreads it on slowly, watching the way the color glides across his mouth. It makes him come into focus. It makes him brighter. It feels a little bit dangerous, being noticeable. Still, it’s better than disappearing without a trace.

The eyeliner is dark, and Nezumi is careful with it. He’s very careful not to blink, to keep his eyes open so it will go as close as possible to the edge of his eyes. He still pokes himself. Only once, though. And he doesn’t stab himself at all with the mascara. That one goes on easy, just a few flicks and he is amazed at how large his eyes suddenly look. He adds a little more eyeliner, trying to get back his own narrow eyes, but has to stop himself before things get out of hand. The blush is light on his cheeks, hiding how pale he is. He looks healthier with it on. 

Nezumi examines at himself carefully in the bathroom mirror. He’s realized before that he’s pretty (not handsome—too young for that—but pretty). Now he is seeing someone a step above that. This is someone who will turn heads. Someone who will command attention. Once he grows a little taller, of course.

Nezumi remembers the book he found in a trash can a few weeks ago. It was a battered copy of a play called Hamlet and it was magnificent. He’s read it twice now. He remembers a little of it, some pieces and fragments that have become trapped in his mind.

“O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,” he whispers, then tucks all the makeup away behind the mirror again and shuffles out the door to get the whole effect of himself in the full-length mirror.

He is beautiful. The dress hangs on him a little strangely, but his collarbones jut out against his pale skin and his neck is long. He hikes up the hem of the skirt and nods at his legs. They aren’t bad either. The shoes make him look taller and force him to walk differently. They are just as impractical as the dress, but Nezumi likes how they made him feel graceful. He can successfully walk in these weird torture devices; he can do anything. 

Nezumi stands up straighter.

> “O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,  
>  Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!  
>  Or that the Everlasting had not fixed hmm hmm…To die, to sleep.  
>  To sleep, perchance to dream—aye, there’s the rub,  
>  For in that sleep of death what dreams may come  
>  When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
>  Must give us pause. There’s hmm hmm…  
>  There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me. I would give you some violets but they withered all when—”

Nezumi coughs, remembering the rest of the line, and shakes his head quickly so he will forget. He feels stupid immediately afterwards. They were just words. They weren’t real. He clenches his hands and racks his brains for more words from Ophelia.

> “Ummm, O what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!  
>  To courtier’s, scholar’s, soldier’s, eye, tongue, sword,  
>  Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state,  
>  The glass of fashion and the mold of form,  
>  Th’ observed of all observers—quite, quite down!  
>  And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,  
>  That suck’d the honey of his music vows—”

“What’re you doin?”

Nezumi turns slowly, though he wants to duck into the wardrobe and slam the door. “Shion?”

Shion is blinking at him owlishly, brown hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. He might have a fever along with his cough, Nezumi thinks. Perhaps this can be used to Nezumi’s advantage.

“I’m reciting Shakespeare in your mother’s dress and makeup,” Nezumi says.

“Oh. That’s nice.” Shion seems about to say more when he suddenly starts coughing horribly, his head almost slamming into the table as he hacks and wheezes. Nezumi darts towards him, about to yell at him to raise his arms over his head and take deep breaths, but the shoes are unexpected and the dress tangles and—

Shion is laughing and coughing now. Nezumi pushes himself off the floor slowly, feeling the neckline of the dress cutting into his arms. He bites his lip and tastes the waxy color he spread there. His eyelids feel suddenly heavy with makeup. He looks at Shion, whose face is level with his own. 

“You think I’m funny?” Nezumi asks quietly.

Shion is leaking tears and shaking with mirth, unable to speak around his illness and his hilarity. He nods though, and reaches out a hand. 

Nezumi slaps it away. “Wonderful. So glad for you.”

Shion can’t seem to calm down. His laughter only dies after Nezumi has pulled on his own clothes in the darkness and safety of Karan’s wardrobe, hanging her dress up by feel. He emerges to find Shion standing, swaying, waiting for him.

“You looked lovely,” Shion says before Nezumi can say anything.

Nezumi pauses his rage. Shion doesn’t know how to use sarcasm. “Really?” he asks cautiously.

“Yes,” Shion says, nodded empathetically. “Lovely.” He starts giggling again and Nezumi’s stomach clenches. “You’re funny when you fall down, though. You never fall down.”

“Oh.” Nezumi takes a breath. “Yeah. It was the shoes.”

“Mmm hmmm,” Shion hums, and Nezumi grabs his arm before Shion can fall over.

“Let’s get you downstairs,” Nezumi says, “shall we? Thanks for the tour.”

“No problem. No problem.” Another coughing fit. 

Nezumi keeps forcing Shion down the stairs. “I’ll get you water. You should rest.”

“I was. Till you wanted a tour.”

“I said thanks.”

Shion tries to sit down on the steps leading to his room. “Tired.”

Nezumi drags him upright again. “I know.” 

“You gonna leave?”

Nezumi shakes his head as he shoves Shion up the ladder and into the top bunk. “No, Shion. Not till your mom gets home. You’re not looking good right now.”

“You’re looking great. Lovely.”

“Yes,” Nezumi sighs, tucking the blankets around his friend, “you’ve told me. Now sleep.”

“Okay.” Shion shuts his eyes obediently. Nezumi ducks into Shion’s bathroom and snags one last look at the beauty in the cracked mirror before he washes her and her tragedies down the drain.

 

THE END


	3. ClockTower (Age 12)

Shion doesn’t hear his window pop open. He doesn’t hear the soft footsteps of a so-called rat. He doesn’t hear the squeak of Nezumi’s scrawny weight on the ladder of his bunk-bed. He only feels the sharp squeeze on his forearm and the ache in his forehead when he sits up so fast he almost passes out.

“Nez…Nezumi. You scared me,” he gasps, pressing the palm of his hand against his brow. Nezumi maintains his grips Shion’s other arm. Those grey eyes practically glow in the dark. Shion starts thinking about _Omphalotus olearius_ , a bioluminescent fungi, before thoughts like ‘What’s wrong,’ ‘Is everything okay’ and ‘Why are you waking me up’ begin to filter through.

“Shion, let’s go.”  
“Mmm? Where?”

“Come on.”

“What’s wrong?” Shion finally asks once glowing plants and animals are safely tucked away in the recesses of his mind and reality begins to disentangle itself from the vice grip of sleep and dreams.

“Nothing. I just wanna teach you something.”

“Teach me what?”

“Something you need to know. Now get your ass outta bed.”

Shion nods, mumbling “…language…” under his breath and wondering what Nezumi would think was important enough to pull Shion out of bed at this hour. What is this hour? Shion squints at his alarm clock and sees a bright green two-thirty-four-am glaring back at him.

Nezumi’s hand vanishes from Shion’s arm and the boy the hand belongs to disappears as well. With a soft whump Nezumi lands on the floor. Shion stretches and rubs his eyes before climbing down off his bed. Nezumi is sitting cross-legged on those crates that Shion had stacked below the window; the strategically-placed crates that, Shion realizes with a small jolt, were probably the biggest tip-off to his mother that he had someone sneaking into his room at night.

Shion pulls on a sweater and digs around for socks. Nezumi is still wearing that sweater Safu’s grandmother knit. A soft smile finds its way onto Shion’s mouth. But… he’s also wearing shorts.

“Nezumi it’s cold outside. Do you want to borrow some pants?”

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need your fucking pants.”

Shion purses his lips and starts tying his shoes. Nezumi’s barefoot, but Shion already learned not to offer him any shoes.

“Hurry up,” Nezumi growls. He gives Shion a leg-up and pushes him up and out of the window.

It’s bone-chilling, teeth-chattering cold when they reach the park. Shion isn’t sure if it’s so cold because it’s slightly windy or because mere minutes ago he was in a warm cave of blankets.

Shion knows his way around the grounds, knows where all of the _Nageia nagi_ and _Lagerstroemia subcostata_ are planted, knows which types of grass grows in which areas. He bites his tongue to keep from saying, “Hey Nezumi, there’re some _Lilium maculatum_ over the hill! They’re not in bloom right now, but let’s go look at them anyways!” He follows Nezumi silently and shivers in a cold that Nezumi either doesn’t notice or has become completely accustomed to.

“We’re here,” Nezumi says. Shion’s growing tired of all this sudden cryptic stuff but only says, “There’s nothing here. It’s just an empty area. There’s only some _Agrostis stolonifera_ and _Imperata cylindrica_.”

Nezumi glares at him. “I know it’s empty. That’s why we’re here. No one from the Security Bureau’s going to wander back here.”

Shion nods. Come to think of it, this is the first time he’s ever been anywhere outside of his house with Nezumi. His face turns red. Of course Nezumi would only take him somewhere in the middle of the night, when the streets were empty. Of course it took them twice as long to get to the park as it should have, because Nezumi took them through back alleyways and froze at any unaccounted-for sounds. Why hadn’t Shion even thought of that?

Nezumi doesn’t notice Shion’s embarrassment. Instead his eyes scan the area one last time before his shoulders relax and he turns to face Shion.

“You want those kids to stop bulling you, right?”

“Is that what this is about? Nezumi, I told you: it’s fine. They’re not as mean as they were at first, and one of them is actually pretty nice when I talk to him alone; I think we might even get to be friends pretty soon, so I—”

“So who gave you that bruise?”

“Which one?”

“Exactly. You can’t even keep track of how many you’ve got right now. I’m not going to be… friends,” Nezumi spits the word at Shion, who resists the urge to flinch, “with a weakling. Now come on, stand like this.”

Nezumi shifts so his legs are apart, knees bent, and fists cocked in front of him. Shion attempts to copy him.

“Like this?”

“No, your legs are too far apart, you’re going to lose your balance and fall. And if you keep your fists there someone’ll just hit your hands and make you punch your own face.”

“Oh… is this better?”

“Geez, you really are an airhead.”

“Hey! I’m trying! It’s the middle of the night and I’m tired!”

“Stop complaining. Now punch my shoulder as hard as you can.”

Shion drops his fists and furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not going to punch you!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you! You’re my… friend!” Shion tests the word out and it fits perfectly on his tongue. “Friend,” he echoes himself with a nod of self-approval. It was previously Safu’s word, but Nezumi deserves it too. Maybe Nezumi deserves it even mor—

“Airhead! Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Shion’s head snaps up. “Yes!” he lies.

“Liar. Like I just said, if you don’t want them to beat you up anymore you’ll let me teach you how to fight.”

“That’s what we’re doing? Nezumi, I don’t want to fight! I don’t want to hurt you, or them, or anyone!”

Nezumi’s nose crinkles and lips curl. “You’re lucky you live here, in safe little No. 6. You wouldn’t last two minutes in West Block,” he snarls.

“I doubt it’s really _that_ dangerous, Nezumi…”

Nezumi clutches his stomach, doubles over, and laughs. It’s that deep belly-laugh that simultaneously makes Shion want to question the word “friend” and to laugh along with his… friend. What else would Nezumi be? Could Nezumi be? Friend is the only word Shion has, and it fits like the last puzzle piece in a 1,000-piece set, with that satisfying final “click” and feeling of accomplishment.

Nezumi dramatically stands back up and whips imaginary tears out of his eyes.

“Well your majesty, since you seem to know so much about your neighboring realms, I figure you won’t need any more of my knowledge.”

Shion puts his hands on his hips and glares with all the anger and frustration a knobby-kneed twelve-year-old can manage. “Just… teach me something else! I don’t want to punch them, so teach me something else!”

“Fine. I’ll teach you something else. But it’s not going to be any easier.”

“That’s okay. I just don’t want to punch them.”

Nezumi reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a hair-tie. He yanks his hair into a small, messy ponytail at the base of his neck, but a wild and unruly muddle of bangs and too-short-strands still frame his face.

“Your hair’s getting really long!” Shion says with a smile. “Maybe you should get it cut.”

“West Block doesn’t exactly have a thriving community of barbers,” Nezumi snaps back before adding “jackass” under his breath. 

Shion frowns. “Well if that’s the case I could cut your hair! You’ve trusted me with a needle; surely you can trust me with scissors.” Shion reaches a hand out towards the top of Nezumi’s head, but Nezumi takes a fluid step back, leaving Shion to grope at thin air.

“I have to leave it long! Leave my hair alone and stop trying to change the subject! I’m trying to teach you how to survive!”

Shion crosses his arms and spits, “Fine. Let’s just get this done with so we can go get some sleep. It’s gotta be three-thirty in the morning already, at least. And I have class in the morning.”

Nezumi reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade this time, flicking the knife out and handing it to Shion handle-first. Shion steps backwards and nearly trips over his own feet.

“A knife?!”

“You want to know how to defend yourself, don’t you?”

“I mean… not like this!”

“Just take the damn knife. The sooner you let me teach you the sooner your majesty can get back to his royal slumber.”

Shion glares but takes the knife from Nezumi’s hand anyways, careful not to nick anyone’s fingers in the process. He holds the blade lightly, running his fingers over everything except the sharp bits. He bounces it in his palm, feeling the weight.

“Will you stop fondling the knife and just hold it already?”

“What’s fondling?”

“God you’re an airhead!” Nezumi says through gritted teeth, “Just hold the knife like a normal person already!”

Shion grips the handle of the knife and holds it up towards Nezumi, who takes a step back. His eyes are suddenly wide—if only for a single second—until he takes a deep breath.

“Nezumi?”

“Just point that somewhere else. I would die of shame if my throat was slit by some novice.”

“I think you’d die of your slit throat before you had a chance to die of shame, Nezumi.”

Nezumi looks at the ground and shakes his head before glancing back up to inspect Shion’s grip. “Idiot! You’re going to cut your thumb off if you hold it like that.”

Shion readjusts his grip.

“You’ll cut off your pinky.”

Shion readjusts again.

“You’ll drop it.”

“Well then you show me!”

Shion holds the knife out to Nezumi, who takes it without that caution Shion had displayed when he was handed the little blade. Shion jerks his hand back.

“I wasn’t going to cut you, jackass. Unlike you, I’m not afraid of knives. I know how to use them.”

Shion glares at Nezumi’s smug face and moves back to watch him in action.

His half-ponytailed, half-feral black hair curves with his movements as Nezumi arcs the knife through the air, slashing and dodging invisible targets. He dances around Shion in rapid spins and sudden squats, at some times nearly on the ground and at others practically flying through the air.

Shion almost forgets to breathe.

“How do you even do that?” Shion asks. Nezumi freezes and turns to face him.

“That’s what I’m trying to teach you, idiot. I know how to defend myself. And you need to know too, if you want those assholes to leave you alone.”

“Language!”

“Whatever. Here, take the knife again.”

He slaps the handle into Shion’s palm and takes a single step back before Shion manages to drop it.

“Could you maybe teach me something else?” Shion asks softly, staring at the knife on the ground, “I can’t even manage to hold it right.”

“You’re holding it too loose. You can’t be scared of it; you can’t be willing to let it go. Actually…”

Nezumi puts his hands on his hips and nods.

“I’m gonna teach you how to throw a knife. It’s more difficult than what I’ve tried to teach you so far, but since you’re so damned determined to get that knife as far away from you as fast as possible… You’ll probably still fuck it up though.”

“Shut up! No I won’t! Just tell me what to throw it at!”

Nezumi stoops to pick up the knife and says, “One of the trees.”

“What?! Which one?!”

“That one over there. Don’t tell me you’re friends with it or something.” Nezumi smirks and points to a tree a few yards away from them.

“No! That’s a _Fagus crenata_! We can’t throw knives into it!”

“Why not?”

“It’ll hurt it! Can’t we throw knives into anything else?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Shion, all we’ve got around here are plants.”

Shion pauses and stares at the threatened tree. “I know a spot where we won’t get caught that has stuff other than trees.”

“Lead the way, your highness.”

Shion glares at Nezumi but walks through the bushes that concealed this little clearing from the rest of the park, bringing Nezumi onto the main pathway.

“Shion, you airhead, no! They’ll see us!”

“It’s okay, this way’s fastest, I promise. They won’t see us; this part of the park’s pretty much always empty and I doubt they’d ever watch the surveillance on it.”

Nezumi bites his lip but nods and follows Shion onto the sidewalk. They only walk down it for a minute or so before Shion leads Nezumi through another set of bushes—these ones with thorns that scratch at Nezumi’s bare legs—to a small tower.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a clock tower. We’re on the back side of it and I doubt anyone would come through here except for maintenance. So it should be safe.”

“A clock tower?”

“Yeah. But look,” Shion gestures at the rounded wooden door to the tower, embedded in the pale curved brick, “we can throw knives at that.”

Nezumi stares at the door and slowly nods his head. “Yeah, this should work. And this way you won’t have to hurt any of your precious trees.”

Shion nods and smiles.

“Take the knife.”

Shion’s smile fades, but he reaches out and takes the blade.

“Okay, your grip on it is actually pretty good. Just move your thumb up a little bit. Yep, that’s good. Now, decide where you want to hit the door.”

Shion looks over to the tower and picks a knot in the wood. It reminds him why he always liked that door; it has so many unhidden imperfections, unlike the rest of the city. He takes a few steps towards it, but Nezumi’s outstretched forearm hits him in the chest.

“Nezumi, I think it’s too far for me to hit from here.”

“Stop complaining. Okay, how raise your arm and hold the knife behind your back, by your shoulder blade. No, that’s a bad angle; you’ll cut your ear off as soon as you move to throw it.”

Shion shifts his arm.

“That’s better. Now let go of the knife the second your arm extends completely. Keep your arm straight.”

Nezumi takes a step back and watches Shion swing his arm forward, letting go of the knife a bit too soon. It embeds into the ground a few feet in front of Nezumi instead of in the wooden door.

“Could you maybe show me?” Shion asks.

Nezumi sighs and picks up the knife, swings his arm back, and in the time it takes Shion to blink the knife is already splitting through the air. With a loud whump it lodges into the door.

“Wow! Could you show me again?”

Nezumi glares and stomps over to the door, wrenches the knife out, and stomps back to Shion.

“Watch this time, okay?”

Shion nods as Nezumi throws the knife again… and again… and again.

“Shion, you try this time. I’ve shown you half a dozen times already. Stop stalling.”

Shion nods and leaves Nezumi where he stands, trudging over to the door to pull out the knife.

“Hey! It looks like an N!”

“What are you going on about now?”

“The cuts you made in the door! They look like an N!”

“Stop wasting time and get back here.”

Instead Shion takes the knife and sticks it back into the wood, pulling down to create a vertical line next to the N.

“What are you doing?” Nezumi asks as he walks over, “Stop fucking around.”

“Language!” Shion mutters as he carves a line perpendicular to the top of his first mark.

“What are you doing?” Nezumi asks again.

“I’m carving your name, dummy! The N’s already here so I thought I might as well finish the job.”

“Shion, stop! Are you trying to get me caught? If they see that… you fucking airhead!”

“Calm down! The government only knows you as VC103221, right?”

“How do you even remember all those numbers?”

Shion shrugs and finishes the E. Nezumi moves to stand next to Shion and reaches a hand out to touch the wood. He pulls away like it’s fire.

“Shion… why is there a wooden door on government property?”

“What do you mean?” Shion starts a horizontal line.

“Doesn’t the government only use things like metal and plastic with their projects? Things that… you know, they can regulate how perfect it is. They can pull any imperfections out of the assembly lines and make sure whatever they build fits into their utopia.”

Shion shrugs. “Yeah, mostly. But there’re some wooden structures here in the park. Mom says it’s from when the city had to demolish a forest that grew near the city. They said it was dangerous; I think they even said there was some disease in there. They didn’t want to waste the wood so they used it for some public spaces like this, I guess.”

Nezumi stares at him and slowly places his hand back on the wood, this time pressing his palm against the door instead of merely grazing his fingertips over its surface.

“I wish they hadn’t destroyed the forest. I heard there were all kinds of rare plants and animals that are probably extinct now. It would have been cool to study,” Shion continues after a moment, never looking up and still carving into the door.

“Don’t carve that fucking name in it and get the fuck out of my way,” Nezumi snaps, suddenly pulling his hand off the wood and shoving Shion aside. He grabs the knife but doesn’t wrench it free.

Shion blinks up at Nezumi, not sure how he even ended up on the ground.

“Nezumi? What’s wrong?”

Shion suddenly feels cold again. He isn’t sure when he stopped feeling cold, but now his fingers feel numb and he’s aware of the breeze ruffling his hair and chilling his scalp.

Nezumi doesn’t answer, but his mouth is moving, almost imperceptibly so. He stares at the wooden door, his hand still gripping the knife imbedded in the wood. Shion stands and steps closer to Nezumi; close enough to catch some of the barely-whispered words falling from Nezumi’s lips.

“How… Is it with an…” Shion stares at Nezumi’s hand clutching the handle of the knife. Does he want to carve his name instead of letting Shion do it? Does he not know how to spell “Nezumi”? Shion bites his lip. Surely, Nezumi knows how to spell his own name, even if it was a strange name for a person. Surely, Nezumi knows how to read and write. Shion shakes his head. Of course Nezumi knows how to read; Shion’s seen him do it.

Nezumi lets out a low growl and Shion tenses.

“How… does it… It ends with an i, I’m sure…”

There’s a pause filled only with the sound of crickets and rustling leaves.

“No… that’s Nezumi. Nezumi ends with an i, not my…” his voice trails off and Shion furrows his eyebrows. Does Nezumi have another name?

Nezumi clenches his jaw and presses his forehead against the door, still muttering.

Finally, he takes a step back and pulls out the knife only to slam it back in, nearly to the hilt. He rips it down and out, again and again, leaving jagged lines behind. He rips and stabs and slashes until the surface is marred with the name Nezumi and chunks and splinters of wood poke out from the elbows of the letters written after Shion’s initial attempt. Faintly, Shion thinks he hears Nezumi whisper—to who? To the wood?— “I never wanted that fucking name.”

Reflexively Shion begins to say “language,” but instead lets the word die on his tongue.

“Nezumi…”

Nezumi tosses the knife towards Shion, who takes a step back instead of catching it. The knife falls harmlessly in the grass.

“Carve your name.”

“What?”

“Carve your name. I carved…mine.” His voice waivers for a split second, but he glares at Shion until he picks up the knife.

“Oh, okay,” Shion mutters, but he smiles softly at Nezumi as he says it, “I guess since I’ve already started destroying public property I might as well finish.”

“Public property? Is that what you call this?” Nezumi spits, arms crossed and the corner of his lip twitching. Shion tilts his head.

“What do you… What else would this be call—”

“Just carve your fucking name and then we can go get a few hours of sleep, alright?” He reaches up and pulls his hair out of its confines, letting it fall around his neck and shoulders.

“Oh, why’d you do that? I liked the ponytail!” Shion says as he nicks an S into the wood under “Nezumi.”

“Why? Are you making fun of me?”

“No… I thought it made you look tough.”

“Oh.”

Nezumi sits down on the ground with his back against the tower, next to the door, and draws his knees up to his chest, occasionally reaching over to touch the bottom of the door as if to make sure it’s still there, or maybe to make sure it’s real.

Nezumi doesn't say a word while Shion carves his own name, while they walk home, and while they fall asleep so early in the morning the sun is already toying with the thought of peeking past the horizon. Shion doesn’t know how to break his friend’s silence, but Shion gives him extra blankets to keep away the cold Nezumi ignores.

THE END


	4. Another Typhoon (Age 13)

As Shion lies in bed, he counts on his fingers how many days it’s been since he last saw Nezumi. Twenty-two days. Twenty-two days is the longest Nezumi has ever been away. Usually he shows up at least once a week. He comes when he’s hungry, or when he wants a better place to sleep. Where does he sleep when he’s not on Shion’s bottom bunk? Shion doesn’t know the answer. That fact makes his chest feel hollow and he doesn’t know how to explain why.

He rolls over and stares at the wall. Twenty-two days is a long time. But Nezumi can take care of himself. He’s told Shion that dozens of times. Yes, Nezumi’s fine. Shion doesn’t need to worry. What can he even do? The only thing he knows about getting to West Block is that it’s west of the Wall. He doesn’t even know if Nezumi is in West Block right now. Maybe he’s walking to Shion’s house. Maybe he’s sleeping somewhere safe. Maybe he doesn’t need Shion right now. Maybe he doesn’t need Shion ever.

Shion swallows hard and rolls to stare at the ceiling. He shakes his head. Nezumi’s fine. He doesn’t need to worry, he decides. He closes his eyes, but like so many nights these past few weeks he does not remember sleeping. Hours tick past his eyelids. He’s aware of every second. He mentally prepares himself to watch as the walls are lazily lightened by the early morning sun.

But before the sun has a chance to invade his dark basement room, Shion’s window squeaks. In the time it takes him to sit up, Nezumi is already off the stacked crates and is standing in the middle of his floor.

“Nezumi?” Shion says, even though there’s no one else who would be dropping through his window at this time of night,

There’s no response, and Nezumi doesn’t move. Hairs on the back of Shion’s neck stand on end and he slips off his bed, flipping on his nightstand lamp.

Shion gasps and steps back. Everything is different but it’s exactly the same. The Moon Drop is not crying in the distance, there are no curtains to billow in the wind, there is no storm raging outside. No, the storm is in his room, bottled up in the form of a bloody boy standing before him.

“Nezumi! Are you okay? What happened?”

Nezumi’s thundercloud eyes flicker to Shion’s face and he sways where he stands. Shion steps forward, reaching out, catching Nezumi before he hits the floor.

“I don’t need your help,” Nezumi mumbles against Shion’s ear as he’s pulled to his feet and dragged to the bottom bunk. He manages to sit up but keeps swaying, threatening to spill onto the ground. His hair is tied back in a ponytail, but half of it is hanging out of the lop-sided hair tie, messy and caked with blood.

“Nezumi, there’s a lot of blood here. Is it yours? What happened?” Shion waits for an answer but none comes. All he can hear is Nezumi’s ragged breathing as he struggles to keep his eyes open. “I’m going to go get my mom.”

“No, you idiot!” Nezumi hisses, but it’s quieter than he probably meant for it to be. Shion pauses where he stands.

“Can I go get the first-aid kit?” he asks. Nezumi nods, his hair shivering like his body.

Shion races up the stairs and dives under the kitchen counter, throwing his mother’s cleaning supplies and miscellany onto the floor. The kit’s dusty, in a rusted metal box. It isn’t the same kit he used with Nezumi in Chronos. That one disappeared the night Nezumi blew into his room with the rain, but Shion never asked for it back. Now, he finds himself wishing he had. It was a much better kit than this one; it had painless antiseptic and numbing agents. This one has… Shion isn’t quite sure.

He runs down the stairs, crashing into the wall and hopefully not waking his mother up. Nezumi is still sitting up when Shion tumbles into the room. Nezumi’s breathing isn’t frantic—it’s slow, almost languid, but steady—and Shion isn’t sure if this is a good thing or not.

“Show me where you’re hurt,” Shion says quietly. He sits down on the bed next to Nezumi, who nearly collapses backwards from the shift in the mattress.

“I don’t need your help, I’m fine,” he mutters. Shion opens the kit and pulls out bandages, bottles of rubbing alcohol and other wound disinfectants, a set of surgical needles and thread. Nezumi eyes the packaged needles, pre-sterilized and curving at different angles, all pointing towards him.

“You let me do it before,” Shion reminds him.

Nezumi blinks down at the floor, looking at nothing in particular, before nodding and slowly pulling his sweater off. It isn’t the sweater Shion had given him, and for a split second Shion is curious as to where it came from. But Nezumi’s broken, bruised, and beaten skin distracts him.

Even in the dim light Shion can see Nezumi is covered in deep red, dried and flaking, wet and oozing, blood. There’s a bundle of cloth taped to his collarbone and what looks like a long-sleeved shirt wrapped around his ribcage. Shion stares for a second before nodding and leaving his room again, this time returning with a bowl of water and some rags. He flips the overhead light on with his elbow. Nezumi reflexively covers his eyes.

“Did you do this?” Shion asks, gesturing at the two pieces of cloth.

“Why would I hurt myself?” Nezumi asks back faintly after removing his forearm from his face. He stares back at the floor and isn’t blinking often enough for Shion’s comfort.

“No, I mean the wrappings. I have to take them off.”

Nezumi nods and Shion reaches for the tape on his collarbone. He begins to tug at the corner and the sticky material comes up, trying to pull skin with it. It’s duct tape, Shion realizes.

“Why did you use duct tape?”

“It was all I could find,” Nezumi growls. “You try giving yourself medical attention in a place like West Block.”

Shion says nothing and tugs up the other piece of tape, this time more carefully than before. Nezumi still winces though. Shion pulls away the liberated cloth—noticing how dirty the fabric is, not just with blood but with oil and dirt too—to reveal a deep gash. Blood and grains of sand and other things are crusted around the edges, but the blood on the cloth is fresh.

Shion moves onto the fabric wrapped around Nezumi’s ribs. He finds the knot and tugs on it until it comes loose.

“Nezumi, you had this tied way too tight! How could you breathe?”

Nezumi shakes his head and mutters, “I had to tie it tight. I had to keep pressure on it to make it stop bleeding. The fucker just wouldn’t stop.”

Shion repositions himself to see another deep gash, this one below the left side of Nezumi’s rib cage. Half an inch higher and the wound probably would have bared Nezumi’s bones for the world to see.

“You’re lucky that one didn’t kill you!”

“I was pretty sure it had.”

Shion dips a rag in the water, but Nezumi grabs it out of his hand and starts washing the blood away on his own. He mutedly glares at Shion with unfocused eyes until Shion leans back and politely stares at nothing in particular as Nezumi cleans himself.

“Okay,” Nezumi says softly. Shion looks back to the boy in front of him and surveys the damage, now fully revealed. A series of multi-colored bruises, slight nicks, and cuts create a firmament of painful constellations and shooting stars across his friend’s skin, but those two deep gashes steal the show. Shion gently touches the skin next to Nezumi’s collarbone, and he feels Nezumi flinch away from him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “Nezumi, these are really bad, even worse than they looked before you cleaned them. Worse than that bullet wound, I think. But I guess I can’t take you to the hospital, can I?”

Nezumi shakes his head. “You’re an airhead. And you’re my only fucking option.”

Shion can’t bring himself to say ‘language.’ “I don’t have any local anesthetic. If I suture these, it’s gonna hurt. And when I clean them it’ll hurt too. I’m gonna have to go slow, but your body should get used to the pain after a while and hopefully you won’t notice it.”

Nezumi nods and replies, “Can’t be worse than when I got them in the first place, can it?”

Shion wants to ask how that happened, but instead says, “Brace yourself,” and begins cleaning the wound at Nezumi’s collarbone with the strongest antiseptic in the kit.

“I don’t need your fucking help, I can do that on my own,” Nezumi says through gritted teeth. But his hands remain in his lap and he makes no move to take over.

“I know,” Shion says quietly. He pours on more antiseptic and Nezumi hisses. Shion can see his jaw clench and he feels his own stomach clench in response. “I’m sorry, I know this hurts!”

“Just hurry the fuck up!” His voice is louder, and doesn’t waver like before. The pain seems to be waking Nezumi up, pulling his instinct to fight against anything, everything, back to the surface. Shion lets out a deep breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding in.

“Okay, now I’ve gotta stitch it,” Shion says. Nezumi doesn’t respond, but Shion can see him glaring down at the floor. Not passively staring like before. He doesn’t look up when Shion opens the package of sterilized needles or when he hooks the thread.

“Here we go,” Shion mutters, and he digs the needle into Nezumi’s skin. Nezumi bares his teeth at no enemy in particular.

“Fuck!” He growls, “You fucking sadist!”

“I’m sorry, Nezumi!”

“Fuck!”

He keeps spewing profanities as Shion moves the needle and thread along his collarbone, using some words Shion has never even heard anyone say and some words Shion doesn’t believe are real. After a few minutes though, Nezumi’s shoulder relaxes, his voice softens, and he finally stops talking.

“Are you okay?” Shion asks. The air is too stuffy and room too silent except for the sound of metal slicing through flesh without Nezumi’s vivid words.

“S’fine. Kinda numb right now,” Nezumi mutters.

Shion tugs a knot in place and moves to Nezumi’s left side to work on the ribcage cut.

“How did you get these Nezumi, will you tell me?” Shion asks. Maybe if he keeps Nezumi talking he won’t notice the pain this time. Maybe, Shion hopes.

Nezumi still notices. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip with every dig of the needle, and Shion can feel the pounding of Nezumi’s heart—or was it his own?—running along the tiny metal shaft pinched between his steady fingers.

“I’m hurrying!” Shion mutters, but Nezumi just plunges his fingernails into the palms of his hands and hisses again. It hurts more than the last one, Shion can tell, but the cut isn’t as long. He finishes before Nezumi has a chance to adjust to the pain.

Shion knots the thread off and cuts away the excess string. Nezumi closes his eyes, breathes heavily, and presses his chin to his chest.

“Nezumi…? Will you tell me what happened?”

Nezumi’s head snaps up, his grey eyes stabbing like that needle into Shion. “I got in a fight. I lost. I ran. I ended up here. That’s all.”

“You got in a fight? With whom? What happened?”

“I stole some food.”

“They nearly killed you for stealing food?”

“It’s the West Block.”

“Nezumi, just stay here, please! Look at yourself! You’re beat up and bleeding! West Block is dangerous! What if the next time this happens you can’t get away? Please, Nezumi, Mom won’t mind; I know she won’t! She’d love you! She’s already figured things out about you, I’m pretty sure! It’ll be okay, please! Just… just stay.”

Nezumi hasn’t blinked once since he began staring at Shion. He blinks now, and when he reopens his eyes Shion automatically leans back, away from the unadulterated anger they betray.

“And what, live in your basement? Keep out of sight my entire life? Hidden away in the dark just so you feel better? Fuck that, no! Fuck no!” Nezumi stands and shakes his fist at Shion, ignoring the tugs and pulls on his stitches and bruises that surely send shooting pain through his scrawny, underfed body. “That’s what they wanted to do to me! They wanted to lock me away and use me! You’re no better than them! Just wait— just you wait! One day and I’ll disappear! I’ll be gone! And you’ll never seem me again! I don’t need people like you, I don’t need anyone! I’ll just be gone one day like Huck Fin or some shit!”

Shion shakes his head and stares up at Nezumi, but doesn’t flinch away from the quivering fist. “Nezumi, I don’t know who that is!”

“Who who is?”

“Huck Fin!”

“Fuck you, of course you don’t!”

Nezumi remains standing but shivers. He drops his fist and clutches his ribs opposite the newly-stitched and purpling wound.

“I think…” he says, suddenly breathing calmly, breathing heavily, “…I think my ribs are bruised too. …I…I got kicked pretty hard.”

He sits back down on the bed next to Shion and stares at the window. He bites his lips while Shion sighs.

“Let me put some gauze on those and then I’ll go get you some food,” Shion offers. Nezumi says nothing.

 

Upstairs, Shion carefully packs the first-aid kit and the cleaning supplies back where they belong. He pulls a few day-old muffins and croissants out of the display case and retreats to his room, where Nezumi has already burrowed himself under the covers of the bottom bed—his own bed, though he refuses to call it that—and fallen asleep.

 

When morning comes and Nezumi is still there, sound asleep, and the food is untouched, Shion elects to stay home and tell his mother he’s sick. He hopes that if he makes an appearance upstairs often enough she won’t bother to come down and check on him. He shoves the bloody rags to the bottom of his waste bin and hopes they won’t be missed or noticed. He feels like he spends too much of his time, too much of Nezumi’s time, hoping.

THE END


	5. Rodents (Age 13)

The darkness presses around Nezumi like a child’s security blanket. He feels safe—as safe as he is ever able to feel—in its cold embrace, yet he still darts through the shadowy alleyways and streets, hurdling towards a small well-lit basement window.

When he reaches it, Nezumi can see that airhead sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, staring down into a small shoebox. He pops the window open and slips in. Shion doesn’t hear him; he’s too enraptured with whatever sits in his lap.

“What’s in the box?” Nezumi asks, looming over Shion. Shion jerks his head up.  
“Oh, hey Nezumi!” Shion’s smile seems to grow larger with every word until he’s grinning with all his little white teeth showing. Nezumi takes a step back. Something about that smile is suffocating, pressing on him and squeezing him in a way so different from the darkness outside.

“What’s in the box?” he asks again.

Shion doesn’t pick up the box and hand it to Nezumi but rather leans back, forcing Nezumi to come closer in order to look.

“It’s a mouse!” Shion says.

“I can see that, airhead.”

A little ball of fur is huddled in the corner of the box, which is empty except for a few droppings and a half-gnawed piece of bread. The mouse is a silvery-grey, with the fur closet to its skin white and the tips of the hair almost black. It’s like the mouse rolled in cinders and ashes.

“Where’d you get the rat?” Nezumi asks.

“Mouse. Rats are—”

“Whatever.”

“Well, I found her under one of the bakery’s display cases. I don’t know how long she’s been living there, but mom says she can’t stay. I don’t know what to do though. I think she’s sick.”

“Your mom?”

“No, the mouse.”

Nezumi nods and continues looking at the mouse. Tremors run through her tiny body and her heart seems to be working overtime.

“It’s just scared of you, idiot. You’ve been staring down at it all day like a hungry cat, haven’t you?”

“No! …I don’t look like a hungry cat, do I?”

Nezumi can tell Shion is looking up at him but he refuses to make eye contact. Instead he watches the mouse shivering against the cardboard.

“Nezumi, I don’t know what to do with her. You know what this city does to pest animals like rats and mice. If I let her go outside she’ll either show back up in the bakery or the city will hunt her down and kill her.”

Nezumi shrugs. It’s just a mouse. He glances to Shion’s expectant face. He can identify the turmoil flickering across Shion’s eyes, but… it’s just a mouse. Shion’s biting his lower lip and Nezumi knows Shion wants him to provide an answer. But Nezumi doesn’t have one Shion will like.

“Just chuck it,” Nezumi finally says. Shion’s eyes widen.

“They’ll kill her! The city has zero tolerance for pest animals! I’m amazed this mouse even managed to live this long…”

“That’s the rat’s problem, not yours. It needs to be able to take care of itself.” Nezumi sits down on the bed next to Shion and their knees bump as he crosses his legs.

“That’s cold!”

“That’s life.”

“Nezumi…” his voice trails off, and after a moment Nezumi risks a glance. Shion’s staring down at the mouse again. His lips are pursed and the mouse is still ducked away in the corner. Nezumi considers asking if Shion’s trying to give the poor rodent a heart attack but holds his tongue.

“Wait!” Shion looks to Nezumi and grins again. Nezumi leans a little bit away and waits for Shion to continue. “What if… what if you take the mouse with you when you leave? You can set her free in West Block!”

Nezumi’s mouth drops open for a split second before he closes it again. He stares back at Shion, who still grins. “What?” Nezumi asks.

“If you let her go in West Block then the city won’t be able to hurt her and she can live out her life with other mice!”

“I…” Nezumi’s voice trails off. He swallows and looks down at his hands. He owes Shion so much, for the amateur medical attention, for the food, for the warm bed, for… being someone to talk to. Surely he can smuggle a mouse into West Block. But, what then? If they start tallying things now, if they do the math—if they quantify everything the way No.6 loves doing—and calculate how much Nezumi owes, he’ll be at Shion’s mercy well into adulthood. Nezumi shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it. He braces himself for the inevitable words to tumble out of Shion’s mouth: “I’ve done so much for you, surely you can do this.”

But instead of the room being filled with those drowning words, Nezumi’s stomach growls.

He looks over at Shion, who giggles. He waits for Shion to say it, for the boy next to him to tell Nezumi, “Rescue the mouse and I’ll go get you food.”

But once Shion’s giggles dissipate, he just says, “Are you hungry?”

Nezumi keeps staring at Shion’s smile. Slowly, he says, “…Yeah.”

“I’ll go get you something from upstairs.” Shion shifts the box onto Nezumi’s lap and stands up. “Make sure she doesn’t escape or something!” The words elongate as he stretches.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Nezumi asks, looking down at the shivering ball of fur.

“Well, if it were a male you’d be able to see its tes—”

“Okay! I get it!” Nezumi says. He waves his hand in the air and can feel a laugh bubbling up his throat. He swallows it back down.

“Don’t touch the mouse or she might bite you!” Shion says as he opens the door and slips out into the stairwell.

When the door closes, Nezumi hears a squeak.

He glances down at the box in his lap. The mouse squeaks again. She’s not buried in the corner anymore. Instead, she stands on her hind legs in the middle of the box, beady black eyes trained on Nezumi’s face.

“Shut up. You should be scared of me.”

The mouse chirps and comes back down on all fours with a soft plop.

Nezumi looks at his hand and back down at the little cinder mouse. Cautiously, he reaches into the box. She doesn’t scurry away from his hand, but watches his curious fingers advance. Nezumi brushes her back with one of his knuckles.

She doesn’t try to bite him, and her fur is softer than satin.

 

The Wall gently curves behind Nezumi, caging him despite the fact he is outside its concrete confines. Nezumi shakes his head and the tuft of his ponytail swishes back and forth. No, it will never cage him. He will never give it the chance. He escaped the first time; he’ll escape as many times as he needs too.

Nezumi glances around but there’s no one in sight. People usually don’t come this far away from West Block, out to the ruins that dot the perimeter between the makeshift civilization and nothingness. He takes the little box in his hand, opens it, and unceremoniously flips it over so the mouse flops out onto the ground with a squeak.

“Git,” Nezumi mutters, nudging the mouse’s rump. Its fur is soft against his calloused toe. Instead of rocketing off into the wasteland, the mouse turns around to face Nezumi, her white whiskers twitching and little coal black eyes blinking.

“Git!” Nezumi says again, louder this time. The mouse squeaks at him.

“Goddamnit, get the fuck out of here!” Nezumi yells, throwing the box on the ground a few feet away from the mouse.

The sudden noise and movement don’t scare her. Instead, she squeaks at him again.

“You sassy little shit, don’t talk back to me! I could squish you in a second!” Nezumi turns on his heel and walks away, head down. But he feels a sudden series of digging pinpricks and pinches run up his leg and tugs along the fabric of his pants and shirt. Nezumi reaches up and slaps the mouse off his shoulder before he even glances over. But he does look down when he hears a light thud on the ground.

The mouse lies in the dust, legs splayed out, and for a second Nezumi feels something churning and painful spread through him. Guilt? Did he hurt her?

“Get up,” he mutters, but by that point the mouse was already back on her feet and clawing her way up his pant leg again. He shakes the mouse off.

“No, stupid rat! I said no!”

He folds his arms and glares at the mouse before walking off again.

But the mouse follows him. He can’t hear her or see her, but he knows she’s there.

So he stops and turns to face his tiny stalker.

“You fucking stupid rat! I said no! Rats don’t need anyone else, okay? Rats take care of themselves! How can you not understand that! Rats don’t even make friends! Rats don’t need friends…” Nezumi’s voice trails off. The mouse’s black beetle eyes are unnerving. She just stares at him, her whiskers twitching. She takes a step forward, but Nezumi can see she’s unsteady and nearly topples over.

Did he…

“You little shit head! You’re a fucking rat! You don’t need help!”

The little mouse lies down in the dirt, staining her fur a light tan. Nezumi turns around and starts walking away. He glances over his shoulder—to make sure the damn mouse isn’t following him, of course—and sees she’s still in the same spot.

“Idiot! You as dumb as Shion! There’s nothing to eat out here! You’ll get eaten by a bird if you just lie there! Are you going to give up that easily?”

The mouse moves—more of a twitch—but doesn’t squeak back at him.

Nezumi pulls on his bangs and grits his teeth.

“You’re worse than Shion, and he’s a fucking airhead! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself, do you?! Little shit head! Fuck you!”

He stomps over to the dejected little mouse, scoops her up, and dumps her on his shoulder. Her smooth and soft fur slips through his fingers. Softer than Shion’s hair. Tiny nails prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt. She holds on even as he practically runs back to the West Block.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been so lackadaisical about updating this fic!


	6. Chatty Mice (Age 14)

The mouse squeaks. Nezumi opens one eye and tries to glare at her, but his eyeballs are not cooperating. Neither is the mouse. She’s sitting on her hind legs, front paws tucked together over her pale stomach, and she nudges a little pill forward with its nose when she sees him looking.

“What?” Nezumi groans.

The mouse squeaks again and rolls the pill towards him again. It’s not a pill. It’s a capsule. Nezumi shoves enough books aside that he can roll onto his back, dragging his motheaten sheet back over himself when it tries to escape. He fumbles with unscrewing the capsule, insufficient sleep making him slow, and manages to read the note to himself despite the fact that the handwriting is atrocious.

> _Hi Nezumi it’s Shion! I thought we could pass notes when you’re too busy to visit, and maybe you’d be able to let me know when you’re coming by sometimes! I’m so glad you gave the mouse a home! ~Shion_

“Idiot,” Nezumi says, wide awake now. He flips the note over and accidentally begins an exchange.

> _Shion you idiot, these can be intercepted. I’m not telling you when I’m going to be in town. That’s stupid. You’re stupid._

> _You’re being kind of paranoid you know. No. 6 isn’t going to search MICE. That’s silly. You’re silly. But if you think passing notes is so dangerous, why won’t you just come live with my mom and me? She probably already knows you’re here, I bet she wouldn’t mind at all. We’re both good at keeping secrets! ~Shion_

> _I’m not silly, you asshole, and I don’t care how good you are at keeping secrets, I’m not going to live in No. 6! Why the fuck would I do that? You must be dumber than you look if you believe I’d do something that moronic and dangerous! The whole city is built on lies._

> _West Block sounds way worse than No. 6. You won’t even let me visit you there! I think you’re overreacting about the city. I remember that you got shot at and everything, but maybe it was an accident. I keep trying to figure out why No. 6 would hurt you, but it doesn’t make any sense! ~Shion_

> _I remember being chased by those people, Shion. You still don’t get what happened, do you? I’m not overreacting. No. 6 is evil._

> _No. 6 isn’t perfect, but it’s not evil either. They take care of everyone. I went against the rules but they still let me live here! I still can go to school and work in the city when I’m old enough. Maybe it would forgive you too if you came and lived with us. It has to be safer than West Block. ~Shion_

> _You’re forgiving them for taking away your status and your chance for an education. That’s moronic. They have the power to completely change the course of your life and you’re okay with that. You’re blind._

> _I broke the law, Nezumi. I don’t feel bad about it or anything, but a state has a right to punish its citizens if they disobey the laws that are agreed upon to keep the state running smoothly. I learned that in political theory. You never say anything about West Block being better or worse than No. 6. ~Shion_

> _Did they ever teach you that the public has power? That the people are the ones deciding the laws? That the masses are only ruled so long as they allow themselves to be? If shit gets too bad and the state thinks it can fuck with people for no reason, people can fight back._

> _You’re still not saying anything about West Block. ~Shion_

> _Are you coming back? ~Shion_

> _I’m sorry. I won’t bug you about it anymore, I promise. ~Shion_

> _Are you getting my messages? ~S_

> _I have a book on codebreaking if you want to send messages that way. ~S_

> _I hope you’re okay. ~S_

> _I’ll be there tomorrow night. Stop sending the mouse all the time, it’s annoying._

THE END


	7. Books! (Age 14)

There are four types of darkness in Nezumi’s life. They all permeate his being, shaping him and molding him into the boy he’s become. The darkness of West Block—the darkness Nezumi knows best—is full of anger, discontent, and hate. But he takes comfort in it, because the shadows envelop him. In that darkness he is hidden and protected when he is the hunter and, more importantly, when he is the prey. He knows how to glide through those murky dusty shadows, melt and fade away into them until the opportune moment. It’s freedom, with all its salvations and dangers.

The second darkness is something he’s only seen once. It was a pressing, scalding darkness bright with fire and screams and burning pain. He has nightmares about it. Thinking about that darkness makes his stomach twist in a hollow rage and throws his heartbeats off kilter. So, he doesn’t think about it.  
No. 6’s darkness is terrifying, and Nezumi can find no safety in it. A single toe out of a shadow and he’d be dead. It’s a minefield in that city, and Nezumi willingly sacrifices stealth for speed, because the longer he spends in this darkness, the sooner he’ll be caught.

So he rockets through an unlatched window and into the fourth kind of darkness. It’s the safest darkness of them all. There, Nezumi will allow the steady breathing of the airheaded boy laying a few feet above lull him into a deep sleep, nestled in blankets and warmth. But that safety comes with thorns. Nezumi knows that. The moment you begin to trust someone is the moment you’ve let down your defenses. The darkness here is also terrifying, in a slow insidious way that creeps up on Nezumi, pulls at his heart until it pounds and the only way to escape the thump-thump-thump is to crawl out the window before the sun wakes Shion up. But still Nezumi finds himself there on a weekly basis.

 

“What ’cha reading?” Shion asks. He’s practically hanging upside down from the top bunk, his brown hair fluffed out.

“You look ridiculous,” Nezumi says.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Shion’s face, which had been slowly turning tomato red from the blood rush, disappears. Nezumi returns to the book.

> _Let me live here ever!  
>  So rare a wondered father and a wife  
>  Makes this place Paradise_

The mattress shifts, and suddenly Shion’s crouched next to him, leaning over him, too close to him.

Nezumi sits up and shifts away.

“Come on, what’re you reading?” Shion asks. He’s still too close. Nezumi moves further away again.

“Why do you care?”

“It just looked like you thought it was really interesting.”

Nezumi flashes Shion the cover and says, “ _The Tempest_. It’s by Shakespeare. I doubt you know who that is.”

Shion nods solemnly and says nothing, so Nezumi returns to his page.

> _You nymphs, called naiads, of the windring brooks,_  
>  With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,  
>  Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land  
>  Answer your summons; Juno does command.  
>  Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate  
>  A contract of true love. Be not too late. 

“What does ‘windring’ mean? I don’t think that’s a word.”

Nezumi looks up to see Shion’s warm brown eyes boring into the page. He groans and snaps his book shut, nearly slamming his own fingers between the pages in the process. “Shakespeare liked to make up words. Will you stop reading over my damn shoulder and give me some damn peace?”

Shion rocks back, away from Nezumi, until he collapses on his ass with an undignified plop. “I just wanted to see what you were reading.”

“It’s not a textbook. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I can read things other than textbooks, you know!” Shion frowns and climbs off the bed, his hands pressing against his hips once he stands. Nezumi snorts. Shion doesn’t look half as disgruntled as he surely intends.

“I’m going to bed, I guess. I’ll leave the lamp on for you.” Shion’s hands drop to his side and he stares at Nezumi for a second.

Nezumi nods. “I’ll turn the light off as soon as I’m done, your majesty.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Shion says softly. Nezumi doesn’t respond, although he heard the request. He opens the book and starts reading again. His fingers itch for a pencil or pen to mark quotes and passages, but can’t ask Shion for one. So instead, he focuses on memorizing his favorite lines, whether they stand out for their beauty, content, or both, as Nezumi has learned frequently happens in Shakespeare’s works.

> _Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,_  
>  And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,  
>  Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff  
>  As dreams are made on, and our little life  
>  Is rounded with a sleep. 

‘Rack?’ Images of the busty West Block whores vaguely pass through Nezumi’s mind. Surely, rack has some more eloquent meaning than the one he’s familiar with.

 

Nezumi wakes with a blanket thrown over him, curled around a now quite abused copy of _The Tempest_. He doesn’t remember falling asleep or turning off the light, but he does remember finishing the book.

> _As you from crimes would pardoned be,  
>  Let your indulgence set me free._

He had lain there in the bed, staring up at the wooden slats above him, thinking about the ending of the story. Shion must have—

Nezumi rolls over and punches the pillow hard enough for the mattress below him to squeak. Shion, always going out of his way to take care of Nezumi. As if Nezumi couldn’t take care of himself. He hits the pillow again. Shion’s breathing above him falters and Nezumi freezes until he’s sure his self-appointed babysitter hasn’t woken up.

 

The sky is still deep blue with a splattering of the brightest stars when Nezumi slips out of Shion’s window. It’s still early spring, so the sun is late to rise. Nezumi clenches his empty fists. He left his copy of _The Tempest_ on the pillow of Shion’s bottom bunk. “Only because I didn’t want to carry it,” Nezumi mutters under his breath as he scurries up a fire-escape and scampers towards the West Block, silent and stealthy like his namesake.

 

“I didn’t really understand Ariel,” Shion says when Nezumi’s feet hit the cold floor of Shion’s basement room. He’s sitting on the floor, book in hand and his back leaning against the bottom bunk, accompanied by a tray of tea and muffins.  
Nezumi pauses and leans against one of the stacked crates. “What do you think?” he asks. Shion probably—surely—doesn’t understand Ariel if Nezumi doesn’t have the character fully untangled either.

“I donno. He’s kind of an extension of Prospero, but at the same time hates Prospero… maybe he symbolizes self-hatred? Honestly, I’m not even sure Ariel’s a boy.”

Nezumi waves his hand at Shion’s theory. It’s not right. Nezumi can tell. “Shakespeare’s not that simple.”

Shion’s face reddens and he puts the book down next to the tray of food, probably made-up and delivered by his mother. Nezumi eyes the muffins. He recognizes some of his favorite kinds. And… there’s two cups for the tea.

His eyes narrow.

“So…” Shion picks up a muffin and holds it out to Nezumi. He takes it and sits on the floor next to Shion. After having eaten nothing all day, it takes nearly all of Nezumi’s will power to keep from bolting down the food so fast he chokes.

“Hm?”

“Well,” Shion begins again, “this was a play, right?”

Nezumi nods and reaches across Shion for another muffin.

“If you were to be in the play, who do you think you’d wanna be?”

Nezumi leans back against the bunk bed and stares at Shion. It’s an unexpected question, coming from Shion. He expected something along the lines of “what kind of tree was Ariel entombed in before Prospero came, and how was that physically possible?” Something with science.

“I think either Ariel, I guess… or Miranda.”

“Miranda? Huh.” Shion takes a bite out of his own muffin.

“What’s wrong with me playing Miranda?”

“Remember that time I was sick and you tried on my mom’s dresses?” Shion smiles and Nezumi scowls at him.

“It was only one dress.”

“Yeah, well, do you think you’d dress like that when you played Miranda?”

Nezumi nods. “Yeah, probably.”

“You’d look really pretty. I think you’d do a good job playing Miranda. Or Ariel, even if we don’t really understand him.”

“I’d understand him if I had to play him, airhead.” Nezumi feels defensive about this and doesn’t really know why.

“Who’d you wanna play?” Nezumi asks after a second.

“Oh. Caliban! I think it would be fun to be a monster.”

“…Caliban’s not a monster,” Nezumi replies quietly. He stares at the muffin in his hand. The red of the cranberries had bled through the bread, staining everything, including his hands.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s just a regular person. Sycorax was a magician just like Prospero, and he had a human child. So why couldn’t Sycorax? Caliban just seems savage because Prospero doesn’t let him learn anything. He probably can’t even read.” Nezumi stares back at Shion, who seems to accept Nezumi’s theory with a nod. How had Shion read the play and not understood that? It was like Shion had somehow read the same words from the same pages, but read an entirely different book.

“If that’s the case, I’d probably want to play Ferdinand.”

“Really?” Nezumi grinned. Of course Shion would want to play royalty. The Prince of Naples, no less. “I guess that makes sense, _your majesty_.”

“Wait! No! I take it back! Doesn’t he marry Miranda?! I don’t wanna have to kiss you!”

Nezumi nearly drops his half-gnawed muffin. “What’s wrong with kissing me?! Is it because I’m a boy?” His face heats up and he stares back down at his muffin and red-stained hands.

“No,” Shion says slowly, “it’s because we’re friends. And my mom says you can only kiss people who want to kiss you back. Same goes the other way too. People can only kiss you if you want to kiss them. And we don’t want to kiss each other, so we shouldn’t have to. Even if it’s just a play.”

Nezumi lets Shion’s words wash over him, and his stomach churns. The bloody cranberry pits in the muffin suddenly seem infinitely more interesting, but what Shion says still worms its way through his focus.

“Your mom said that?” Nezumi asks. His voice is quiet but controlled.

“Yeah.”

“…I like that. I like the way she said it. It’s a nice way of putting it.” Nezumi swallows and pulls his lips back in a smirk. “Sounds like she’s a lot more eloquent than you!”

Shion grabs a pillow off the bed and smacks Nezumi in the face with it. The muffin goes flying and Nezumi laughs. He’ll eat a dirty muffin off the floor, and even if Shion won’t let him, there are always more things to eat in this house.

 

“Hey Shion?” Nezumi asks. The wooden slats above his head are exceedingly boring. He can’t make out their color in this darkness, but he knows they’re a deep brown, just a shade or two darker than Shion’s hair.

“Hm?” Shion’s reply is sleepy. Nezumi probably woke him up.

“You guys have libraries, right?”

“Yeah. Most books are digital, but some libraries still have physical copies in the archives.”

Nezumi digs his fingernails into the pillow and rolls to face the wall. No. 6 has everything. Books for people to read. Bread to eat. Beds to sleep in. He buries his face in the pillow. The city has lies, deceit, and cruelty, too.

But it has books.

_The Tempest_ was one of the few books Nezumi had managed to find in a relatively unharmed condition. It had been at the bottom of someone’s trash bin back in West Block, and he’d only seen it—covered in dirty newspaper and food and things he didn’t care to identify—when a dog had tipped the can over and spilled its contents all over the street.

Books are rare in West Block. He owns far too few for his liking. _Hamlet_ , for one. _Othello_ was split in two, held together with tape, yarn, and cracked rubber bands. _Frankenstein_ was in surprisingly good condition, and he’d spared more coins than he should have when he found a leather-bound collection of Mark Twain books hiding in the back corner of a thrift store’s window display. He had talked the shopkeeper down in price a considerable amount first, of course, but ultimately he needed to sneak over to Shion’s more nights than usual for food that week because of his extravagant purchase. He had a torn and abused copy of _The Happy Prince and Other Tales_ as well. It was a decent book, a sad book. The titular story reminded him of Shion, somehow. Every page in his meager collection was smudged by his dirty fingers and the fingers of dozens before him.

“Nezumi, if you ever want a book, I can check it out for you. It’s fine, really.”

“No!” Nezumi sits up and grips the edge of _The Tempest_. “I can get books just fine on my own. I don’t need your help.”

Shion laughs and Nezumi fists the sheets, his nails digging into the cloth and threatening to rip it.

“It’s just books. Besides, do they really have all that many in West Block?”

Nezumi loosens his grip on the bedspread and looks down at his book. He can barely make out the title in the warm, strangling dark.

“Well… No. But I find them and keep them whenever I can.”

“I’ll start bringing you books.” Shion laughs again. It’s a sound free of malice—as always—but Nezumi still feels his muscles tighten. “I don’t want you to turn out like Caliban!” Nezumi glares at _The Tempest_ and considers getting out of bed just to chuck it at Shion’s head. Instead, he lies back down and presses the book to his chest.

“Besides, I think you’re actually more like Fernando.” Shion mutters.

“What, why?”

“Because he blew in with the tempest, just like you.”

Nezumi groans and swallows down a laugh.

 

As long as it takes to convince Nezumi that it was okay for Shion to check out books for him, it takes twice as long to talk Nezumi into returning them.

THE END


	8. Not Much for Stargazing (Age 14)

Shion’s bones have been aching lately. His mother tells him it’s growing pains and now he lies in bed at night, imagining himself being stretched on a rack. He hurts like he’s been beaten. Sometimes he has been, because he’s skipped two grades already and the bullies just keep getting bigger, but even when bruises have faded to yellow and scabs have curled up at the edges he feels a dull burn in his joints. He’s growing.

There is a rustling in the bed beneath his. “Hey, wake up.”

Shion sits up, holding up a hand in front of his face to protect his head. He’s been smacking into the ceiling lately and it’s far from dignified. “I’m up.”

“Can’t sleep?” Nezumi’s head pops over the end of his bed.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Growing pains.”

Nezumi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like you’re ever gonna be tall.”

“I bet I’ll be taller than you,” Shion teases.

“Never!” Nezumi grins, then glances at the window. “Let’s go outside.”

Shion immediately frowns. “Isn’t that dangerous? The police—”

“It’s been over two years. By now they won’t be looking for me so closely. Come on.” Nezumi’s head disappears and Shion swings himself over the edge of the bed, jumping to the ground. The floor is much closer than it used to be. When Shion looks up, he realizes that, for once, Nezumi hasn’t gone out the window. He’s standing by the door that leads upstairs, to the bakery.

“Are you hungry?” Shion asks, looking around for his shorts. 

Nezumi’s already dressed because he sleeps in his clothes, so he’s tapping one bare foot against the floor impatiently. “No. Well, yeah, but… Come on already, you’re fine in your underwear! It’s summer!”

Shion blushes and drags on a pair of cargo shorts, shaking his head. Nezumi waves him up the stairs first with a sarcastically sweeping bow, then races him to the top and beats him easily. The second set of stairs they both take quietly. Karan’s room is at the top, right next to the door to the balcony. They walk on tiptoe and shut the door gently. Shion takes a breath only once they are on the balcony, breathing in the sweet summer air and listening to the sawing songs of grasshoppers. Nezumi carries a chair to a particular spot on the deck, adjusts it carefully, then stands on it and grabs hold of the edge of the roof. With barely a grunt, he swings himself up and lands silently on the rooftiles. He reaches down.

Shion bites his lip. “Um. My mom—”

“She won’t hear if you don’t land like a fucking whale.”

“Language.” Shion teeters on the chair for a moment, reaches up a cautious hand, then wheezes as he’s hauled halfway over the edge of the roof and left with his legs dangling in space. “Nezumi!”

“Shh,” Nezumi says. He climbs higher. Shion has to kick his way onto the roof, hands clawing at the tiles the whole time. When he finally lands on all fours, he is shaking. It isn’t so far to fall, he keeps telling himself. He would have been fine.

“Come on,” Nezumi hisses. He is on the apex of the roof, directly above where Shion’s mom sleeps, and Shion creeps on his hands and knees to make sure he isn’t too loud. When he finally makes it up there, he finds Nezumi laying back, hands behind his head, staring at the sky with a bored expression.

“Why are we here?” Shion whispers.

Nezumi shrugs.

Shion puts his face in his hands. “I could be asleep right now, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t be, though,” Nezumi says. “You were all hurty and sad and weepy and shit. You weren’t going to sleep any time soon.”

“Language, and…” Shion sighs. He lies down on the other side of the roof, so Nezumi is on the slope facing the back alleyway and Shion is facing the street. No one should be able to see Nezumi, unless they look out their window, and that isn’t very likely.

The stars are out. Cloud wisps are barely there, just faint changes in the texture of the sky. The air is heavy and Shion opens his mouth a little so he can taste the humidity. He hums faintly, feeling himself relaxing against the roughness of the roof. He remembers a tune his mother used to sing to him when he was much smaller. The notes aren’t perfect, but he hums as best he can.

“That’s shit.”

“Language,” Shion murmurs, and keeps humming. His eyelids are getting heavy. Joints that once felt like there was hot lead inside of them are now quiet.

“No, shut up,” Nezumi says. Shion hears him shifting. “I know that song.”

“Mmm?”

“They played it… It was playing somewhere. A long time ago.”

“S’an old song.”

“It was summer then, too. You’re not doing it justice.”

Shion lifts his head to look at Nezumi, then decides it isn’t worth the effort and lets his head hit the roof again. “Let’s see you do better.”

Nezumi is quiet for a moment, then hums a few notes. Shion smiles and refocuses on the stars, listening. It’s much better than what Shion was doing before. Then Nezumi starts to sing.

> “There is a castle on a cloud…”

Shion rolls over onto his stomach, propping his chin on his arms. This is the first time he’s heard Nezumi sing.

> “I like to go there in my sleep…”

Shion remembers being sick, so stuffed up he couldn’t breathe, and his mother sang this to him. Once, Shion had leaned too far out a window, trying to grab a particular leaf so that he could figure out what kind of maple the tree was, and when he fell and was concussed and sobbing, his mother sang this to him. When, for the first and last time, he had asked his mother who his father was, she had smiled at him and sang him the song. It is her answer when she can’t do or say anything else.

Karan does not have a bad voice. It’s quite pretty, high and only a little wavery, and she can hit all the notes in this song because it’s her favorite. The girl who had sung it on the CD had sounded better, but Shion had insisted that his mother sang it right. Karan’s is the only version he wants to hear, because she’s singing just for him. The girl on the CD sings for everyone. Karan’s rendition isn’t perfect, but it makes the song personal.

Nezumi turns it into something magnificent. 

His voice is still young enough that it can tap the highest notes. He sings it softly, so he won’t be heard, because there is only a breeze in No. 6 with its high walls and the grasshoppers are growing quieter as his voice gains strength. Shion tries to breathe more quietly, tries to press this moment into his mind.

> “Nobody shouts or talks too loud,
> 
> not in my castle on a cloud—”

And Nezumi’s voice cracks.

Shion blinks. Grasshoppers resume their fiddling. Somewhere, a cat yowls.

“Fuck.” Nezumi is sitting up now, one hand on his throat, the other clenched tightly on the tar of the roof.

“That was beautif—”

“Shut up, Shion.” Nezumi sinks his fingers into his hair and grabs fistfuls of it. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Shion creeps forward. “Are you okay?”

Nezumi turns around and he looks feral for a moment, panic in his eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

“Um, my mom says your voice changes when you get to be a teenager—”

“That can’t be happening. That’s, no. No one told me. Fuck.” And Nezumi’s almost yelling now. 

Shion reaches out. “Shh, someone will hear—”

“I’m fucked either way,” Nezumi snarls, jerking away from Shion. “Goddammit. And I was getting good at it, too…”

“Your voice isn’t going away,” Shion points out. “It’s just changing. It’s fine. You sounded amazing.”

“Yeah, sounded,” Nezumi’s trying to stand up now, but his feet seem to tangle. He teeters for a moment, footing uncertain. Shion grabs for him and Nezumi twists away and nearly rolls down the slope of the roof. “Don’t keep touching me, shit!”

“It’ll be okay,” Shion says. “It’ll settle down and you can figure out how to sing then.”

“Yeah, sure, but what am I gonna do until then?” Nezumi gives up and sits down, knees clasped to his chest. He glares down at the roof gutter. “Goddammit,” Shion hears him whisper to himself. 

“You’ll be okay,” Shion repeats, feeling useless. There isn’t more he can say, though. He sits beside Nezumi, not touching him. Why does Nezumi care so much about his voice? 

It’s dark on this side of the roof. Shion feels chilly. He coughs. “Hey, how did you know all the words to that?”

“I heard it a few times. Used to hang around outside a theater. It was a musical. The songs were sad, sappy shit.” Nezumi has his eyes closed and his brows knit together. They snap open suddenly and he stands up again. He is graceful once more. “How long does this voice thing last?”

Shion blinks up at him. “Um, a year? A few years? Not too long—”

“Right.” Nezumi glares up at the sky, fists on his hips. Nezumi mutters something to himself, frowning at the stars in deep concentration, then drops to a seated position and slides down the roof. After a moment, Shion follows him

“What did you wish for?” Shion asks when they reach the gutter, but Nezumi’s twisting until he’s hanging over the edge of the roof by his fingertips, then he drops out of sight. Shion peers over the ledge.

“Come on,” Nezumi says, “I already helped you up. You can get your own ass back down.” He’s already fiddling with the door back into Shion’s house. “This is stuck again.”

“This is really far, Nezumi…”

Nezumi sighs dramatically. “You’re tall, Shion, just drop already.”

“I’m not tall!”

“You’re taller than you were, and shh!”

Shion stares at the ground. “I don’t feel taller.”

“Fine.” Nezumi stands under the roof. “Lower yourself down and I’ll catch you.”

Shion tips his legs over the side, gasping as he slips a foot lower than he expected, but he feels Nezumi latch onto his bare legs, wiry arms wrapping around his shins.

“Let go.”

Shion drops. Nezumi lowers him down and he still lands with a thump that makes his joints start aching again. “Owww…”

“You’re fine,” Nezumi sighs. “Now open the door.”

Shion pauses and catches one more glimpse of the sky while behind him Nezumi swears at the door. He breathes in, tasting the summer night and trying to recapture some of the music. A wind sweeps past, a faint breeze that ruffles Shion’s hair and reminds him how long it’s getting. He needs a haircut. Then he has to breathe out. The stars will still be watching him tomorrow. He’ll be a little taller, maybe, and Nezumi’s voice may crack again, and Shion may trip over his own feet and spill pastries all over the floor, and Nezumi may or may not still be there when Shion wakes up, but the stars will keep shining.

“Goddammit, airhead, come on!”

“Language.”

The door closes softly behind them and the stars keep shining. There’s no escaping that.

THE END


	9. Gainful Employment (Age 15)

“So I got a job,” Shion breathes out into the night air. They’re on the roof of Shion’s bakery again, this time lying next to each other with their hands behind their heads, elbows bumping with any minor movement.

“About time. Deadweight,” Nezumi says. He smiles up at the sky with the words. He doesn’t mean them, and Nezumi knows Shion’s aware of that.  
“Shut up. …I’ll be working at Park Services.”

“Government job? Why the hell would you work for them after they treated you like shit?” Nezumi is glad he’s nearly broken Shion of the habit of muttering “language” with every curse. Maybe with a little bit of work he’ll have Shion cussing too. Nezumi has, after all, taken it upon himself to improve Shion’s vocabulary. Might as well start with the fun words.

“Well, pretty much all of the jobs here are government jobs, except the independent entrepreneurial positions, like mom’s bakery. And even those need special permission from the government,” Shion explains. Nezumi nods—even though Shion can’t possibly see the movement at this angle—and watches the pinprick stars shining through the black fabric of the night. He can barely see the constellations here. Out in West Block, the sky is scarred with every nebula and planet and curve of the galaxy.

“Orion,” Nezumi says, pointing up to the sky.

“What?”

“That—those stars right there—that’s Orion. See? Those make his belt, and…”

“Oh! I get it! I think.”

They’re quiet again. Nezumi’s pretty sure Shion doesn’t get it.

“So are you going to be a janitor or some shit? Couldn’t you get a better job?” Nezumi asks.

“No, not with my record,” Shion replies. Nezumi winces and bumps Shion’s elbow. His veins have that pounding pressure in them that shows up whenever he thinks about what happened after Shion, well, saved him. “I think I’ll like working there anyways,” Shion continues. “I mean, I’ll be doing really menial stuff like fixing the Sampos and running the lost and found, but at least I’ll get to be outside with the trees sometimes. Since I can’t get an ecology degree, might as well as work in the park.”

Nezumi glances over at him. He’s smiling up at the stars, brown eyes concentrated on some far-away explosion of fire and gasses. His hair’s brown too, and the fingers of the night breeze card through the strands. It’s such a boring color. Everyone’s hair is brown. Karan’s hair too, if Nezumi was to guess. He’s never seen her though. Maybe Shion looks more like his dad. Whoever that is.

But something about Shion makes his boring brown hair vivid, bright, even ethereal in the shallow moonlight. Nezumi quickly looks back to the stars.

“Nezumi?”

“Mmm?” Nezumi shifts and their elbows bump again. Shion doesn’t try to move away.

“What do you do? You’ve never told me.”

Nezumi sits up and turns to look behind him, to face Shion. Shion smiles up at him and waits for a response.

“I do whatever,” Nezumi finally says.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you, I donno, a handyman?”

Nezumi looks back to the sky and snorts. A handyman. That’s laughable. That’s naïve. That’s… Shion.

“Not quite.”

“You’re not…doing anything you don’t want to be doing, right?”

“I do whatever I need to, airhead. You’re lucky. You live in this nice pretend-safe city where you can work at Park Services while your mom bakes pies for the neighborhood. The West Block isn’t that easy.”

“So what do you do, exactly?”

“I told you, I do whatever. Stop asking questions.” Nezumi stands up and stretches. His shirt lifts and he can feel the breeze against his stomach. It’s chilly. “Let’s go inside. I’m tired.” And hungry. He doesn’t say that part.

Shion stays lying on the roof. “You go on ahead. I’m gonna stay out a little bit longer. Try to figure Orion out.”

Nezumi sits back down on the roof. “Fine, your majesty.”

Shion laughs. Clear like a bell. People don’t laugh like this in West Block. They laugh, but not without the weight of worries digging and scratching their vocal cords. Maybe Nezumi’s voice would sound different if he lived like Shion. Maybe it would sound even better. It would sound like a lie.

“Remember that time you sang up here? That was what, a year ago? And your voice kept cracking.” Shion giggles.

Nezumi stares down at Shion. The little shit practically read his mind. “Yeah, I remember, alright.”

“Your voice doesn’t crack anymore. Do you still sing?”

Nezumi shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes.”

“You should do that. Sing for people. Even in a place like West Block, they’d have to stop whatever they were doing to hear you sing.”

Nezumi laughs. It’s loud enough to probably wake up Shion’s mom, but for a split second Nezumi doesn’t care. The laughter rolls up Nezumi’s diaphragm in bubbles that he doesn’t even try to swallow down.

“What’s so funny?”

Nezumi glances over. Shion is sitting up. His eyes are narrowed. He’s offended, but somehow that emotion doesn’t pull the softness out of his face. Even with this little glare, his eyes are still warm.

“You’re too optimistic. West Block would break that in a second. It’s a good thing you live here, I guess.”

Shion snorts and Nezumi shoves away the laughter clawing its way up his throat again.

“You’re just mad because I’m right and you know it,” Shion says.

Nezumi’s face feels hot and he looks up at the cold sky again. “Well, actually…” he rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“What?”

“I’ve… I’ve actually got an audition in two days. For a theater.”

“West Block has theaters?”

“Only one. And just because it’s a terrible place doesn’t mean people don’t want to spend an evening putting on airs and pretending they’re cultured.”

“Audition, huh? For singing?”

“And acting.”

“You’ll do great.”

Nezumi lies back down on the roof again and looks up to the stars. Same ones as last time they were up here. Even in the cold night they are sparkling and shining and somehow warm. Or maybe that’s just the airhead next to him.

THE END


	10. Drunk (Age 15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry! There was a bit of a snafu and "West Block" was posted before "Drunk" (this one), instead of the other way around. Now they should be in the right order! Sorry if there were any references in "West Block" that you didn't catch/any confusion!

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nezumi had said that. Then he’d pulled himself out the window and into the grey light of dawn while Shion blinked after him, wondering why Nezumi had felt the need to tell him that.

Nezumi had never given Shion a concrete promise that he’d return before. Shion just assumed by now that he would wake up in the morning to Nezumi sleeping in the bottom bunk, or he would be about to go to bed when Nezumi arrived demanding baked goods. These times were random. Nezumi never told Shion, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He just arrived.

Now, Shion stares out the window and then checks his watch. It’s two in the morning. It’s a school night. Nezumi might be that inconsiderate, but… Shion has a bad feeling.

He pulls on his cardigan and his coat and, for the first time, climbs out his own basement window. His arms burn with the effort but he hauls himself over the ledge and marvels at how easy Nezumi makes it look. 

Shion has no idea where to start looking for Nezumi. He still doesn’t know how to make it to West Block. Even so, he has to try. There’s something wrong about this night, about Nezumi being absent. Shion shuffles through the dark streets, feeling watched even when he’s in the darkest shadows. He feels painfully visible. 

He is almost all the way to the wall when he hears the singing. “Nezumi?”

Nezumi is stepping down the street, weaving slightly. His clothes look like they were put on in the dark. He managed to tuck one leg of his pants into his boot and leave one leg out. His hair isn’t in its characteristic ponytail. He’s singing something rather rude about the shape of the Moon Drop. And he’s in No. 6, where he’s a wanted man.

“Nezumi!” Shion runs and Nezumi looks up and smiles. Shion almost halts in his tracks. 

This is one of the sloppiest smiles Shion has ever seen. Nezumi’s grey eyes are vacant, drifting, and his mouth looks like it was smeared on in a half-moon shape. “Shion!”

“Shhh!” Shion grabs Nezumi by the arm, then has to grab his other arm because Nezumi’s legs don’t seem to be working properly. “What are you doing? You could be caught!”

“I’m late. For a very importan’ date.” Nezumi chuckles and slumps. 

Shion wraps Nezumi’s arm over his shoulder and tucks himself into Nezumi’s armpit. “Come on, and hush. Why are you acting like this?” He gets them moving forward.

“Drank some stuff. A lot.”

Shion looks up in horror. “You what?”

“I drank a lot of stuff.”

“Why?”

“Celebratin’.”

“What have you done?” Shion sighs, steering both of them out of a streetlight in case anyone is looking.

“Said the right words. ‘I love Ophelia!’” Nezumi yells suddenly, legs giving out again. “‘Eighty million brothers couldn’t, with all their quantitude of love, make up my sum!’”

“Shhh!” Shion tries to clamp a hand over Nezumi’s mouth, but Nezumi immediately snaps upright and jerks away from him. Shion glares. “Don’t yell.”

“Right. Dangerous. Nummer six is. Bad place. Yes.” Nezumi is swaying from side to side. “Bad place.”

“Yes. So come on and we’ll get you inside before someone sees you,” Shion says in a reasonable tone of voice, reaching out to Nezumi. 

With bleary grey eyes, Nezumi leans against him again. He grabs a fistful of Shion’s shirt with his free hand. They walk.

“Your hair is nice,” Nezumi says, resting his cheek on Shion’s head.

“Thanks,” Shion wheezes as he tries to keep Nezumi from slipping into the gutter.

“Mine’s better though.”

“Yes.”

“Yours would be better if it was fun color. Brown’s boring. It’s boring. Your hair is boring and nice, Shion. It’s like you.”

Shion doesn’t answer. He’s not sure if Nezumi is trying to compliment him or not. He doesn’t seem to need to respond, however, because Nezumi is still going.

“You’re very annoying, Shion. You should do something better with your life. You should, you should. You should not be here. Nummer six is a bad place. It hurts people.” Nezumi closes his mouth tightly all of a sudden and straightens up. Shion blinks as Nezumi turns away, leans over, presses his hands against a building, and throws up. There isn’t much to expel. Nezumi spits and wipes at his face, staring at the ground. “Fuck. I am drunk.”

“Yes. Let’s get you home,” Shion says quietly.

Nezumi presses his forehead against the building. “Don’t wanna go home. Wanna go to your home.”

“It’s your home too, Nezumi. I told you that.”

Nezumi looks directly at Shion for the first time that night, a faint frown line between his eyes. He still doesn’t seem to be able to focus. His mouth looks even more smudged than before, and Shion wonders if he’s bleeding or if he’s wearing makeup. Shion stares back, patient.

“I like you, Shion.”

Shion bites his lip and looks at the sky. There are no stars out. It is very dark, and the heat of summer isn’t sticking around at night anymore. Shion feels cold. “You’re drunk, Nezumi. Come on.”

“You gonna say you like me too?”

“Again, you’re drunk.” Shion takes a breath and then looks back at Nezumi. “But yes, I like you too. Let’s go.”

“Kay.” Nezumi is smirking now. His chest is twitching when he latches back on to Shion, almost hanging off of him as they make their way through the black streets. He gives up holding in the giggles after half a block. “You are so serious all the time!”

“You’re one to talk!” Shion can’t decide if he’s angry or not. “You’re the one who’s always trying to stab people or yelling at me because I don’t want to hit anyone, or making fun of me for liking plants, or singing all these sad songs—”

“I do that because I’m awesome,” Nezumi insists. “You’re serious and you’re nice and boring and you’re safe.”

Shion is about to try out swearing when he realizes what the last part means. “I’m safe?”

“Yes,” Nezumi agrees, smushing his face against Shion’s neck. “You’re a safe person.”

Nezumi lives in a place that even he considers dangerous. He visits Shion in No. 6, a city that he hates and that tried to kill him when he was twelve. He has no family that Shion knows about. He has scars in strange places (Shion hasn’t forgotten, even after almost four years) and sometimes he says things that make Shion painfully worried for him. Shion smiles a little, where he knows Nezumi won’t see it. Being considered ‘safe’ by this boy is probably the greatest compliment Shion could receive.

Shion yelps at a sudden pain in his neck “Ow! Did you just bite me?”

Nezumi snickers and tries to look innocently into Shion’s face, but can’t seem to decide where his eyes should be focused. “No.”

Shion grunts in frustration and drags Nezumi onward. “We’re almost there, and I hope you wake up with the worst hangover ever.”

“I’ll just make you take care of me,” Nezumi says.

Shion knows it’s true. “Why did you tell me you were coming back?”

“Hmm?”

“Yesterday. You said you’d see me tomorrow.”

“Hmm… Oh yeah!” Nezumi straightens up again, but keeps hanging on to Shion. “I was gonna say, you graduated high school! Really early!”

Shion waits. “…Yes?”

“That’s great!”

This seems to be all. Shion waits another moment to be sure. “…Thank you?”

“You gonna do the other thing?”

“College?”

“Yeah. Study your plants.”

“I’m working so I can go to community college next year—”

“Great!”

Shion smiles faintly. “—but they don’t have degrees in biology. It isn’t something that most citizens need.”

“What!” Nezumi looks comically affronted. “But you’re smart! Everyone else at that school was dumb as shit!”

“Language, and that doesn’t matter. Smart for public school doesn’t mean I get to go to a, a prestigious college.”

“Oh.” 

Nezumi doesn’t say anything else until Shion is pouring him thorough the window and into Shion’s room. He speaks up from where he’s sprawled on the floor. “Sorry.”

Shion, folded halfway through the window, blinks down at Nezumi. “What?”

“S’my fault you can’t do college with your plants. With their Roman names and stuff.”

“You mean Latin.”

“Romans spoke Latin.”

Shion tips himself the rest of the way into the room and squats by Nezumi’s head. “Don’t apologize. If I had the chance to go back in time, I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

Nezumi’s eyes drift closed. “Why not? I fucked it up.”

Nezumi’s shirt is hiked up high enough that Shion can see his ribs, still too prominent no matter how much Shion tries to feed him. His hair is spread out in a halo around his thin face. If his eyes were open, they would be that same strange grey that Shion can’t seem to get used to. Everywhere his skin is showing, he looks like he’s glowing. He barely looks like he’s a part of this world. 

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Remember how I like you and you like me? That’s a good enough reason.”

“Bitch, I don’t need you,” Nezumi says, but it’s more of a faint sigh than anything else, and it just makes Shion snort.

“Yeah, right. Come on, you’re only five feet from bed.”

“No.”

Shion has to drag him, dead weight, those last few feet. Nezumi somehow manages to clamp on to Shion’s coat after he’s been dumped on the bottom bunk, so Shion has to wriggle out of it and leave it with Nezumi, then turn Nezumi on his side so he doesn’t choke to death if he happens to throw up in the night. Shion waits for the little sigh that signals Nezumi is asleep, then strips off his cardigan and climbs into the top bunk. He’s only getting a few hours of rest tonight, but that’s all right. At least he managed to save Nezumi again.

THE END


	11. West Block (Age 16)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry! There was a bit of a snafu and this chapter posted before "Drunk," even though it happens afterwards. Sorry for any confusion! And even though this might say chapter 10, it's actually supposed to be chapter 11.

Shion sits up, angling his head so he doesn’t hit the ceiling, and checks his clock again. It’s 4:17am. Three minutes have passed since the last time he checked. Nezumi still hasn’t shown up. He looks to the window, searching for a shadow, searching for some sign of movement. Searching for a hand pushing the window open. Searching for Nezumi.

Nothing.

Shion leans against the wall and crosses his arms. Nezumi had said he’d be coming over that night. It was rare for Nezumi to make such plans—to make such promises—but it had happened before. Shion thought back to the last time Nezumi had promised to come over and hadn’t shown up. Shion had found him drunk, singing to the streets. He didn’t need a replay of that night. He didn’t need a replay of Nezumi biting his neck, and he certainly didn’t want to find Nezumi being so uncharacteristically careless again.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Nezumi’s fine, Nezumi’s fine, Nezumi’s fine…” he whispers to himself.

He opens his eyes. 4:20am. He remembers Nezumi showing up in his room broken and bloody in the early hours of the morning.

 

The chill night air blasts against his face, but Shion just crosses his arms and walks down the alleyway towards the main street. In the back of his mind, Nezumi’s voice says, “Stay off the streets, airhead!” Shion keeps going. He squints in the darkness at every shape he passes, but sees no people. Thankfully, he also hears no drunken singing. This time of the night, the entire city feels empty.

Shion keeps walking through the streets, making his way towards the western part of the Wall. He’ll run into Nezumi along the way. Nezumi will call him an airhead and laugh at him for worrying. Then they’ll walk back to Shion’s house, Shion will sneak upstairs and find Nezumi some food, and by the time he gets back chances are Nezumi will already be asleep on the bottom bunk. And Shion will leave the food on the floor next to Nezumi for when he wakes up, and Shion will climb onto the top bunk and go to sleep. He’ll hear Nezumi’s steady breathing and everything will be okay.

Movement shocks Shion out of his reverie, and for a second he doesn’t even remember where he is. He stumbles, trips, and lands in the shadows next to a building. He can see the Wall looming, nearly blocking out the lightening night sky. How far away from home had he walked?

“Is there anyone there?” someone calls. Shion doesn’t recognize the voice. He tucks himself further into the shadows. A uniformed man peers around the corner, scans the area, and disappears again.

“I think you were just seeing things. There’s absolutely no one over there,” he says to his companion, likely some other Security Officer. Shion holds his breath until footsteps mark their departure.

Shion gets to his feet and keeps walking, parallel to the Wall, staying a few blocks away from it but keeping the concrete monolith in sight. For the first time, he wonders how Nezumi manages to sneak past the impenetrable Wall and into the city.

The sound of trickling, running water meets his ears and Shion realizes he must be by the park. Sure enough, he crosses a bridge over a small river and can see the vague, dark, shadowy clock tower in the distance.

The water… it goes somewhere. Probably out of the city. There might be a way out if he follows it. Or, it might at least be Nezumi’s way in.

Shion finishes crossing the bridge and slides down a grassy hill to the banks of the little river. His feet squish in the mud and water leaks into his socks. He winces at the cold but keeps walking, following the river towards the Wall.

He walks and walks and walks and early summer sunrise begins to stain the sky purple. When the river meets the Wall and runs alongside it, Shion resists the temptation to fight across the river just to run his hand along the Wall’s smooth surface.

Thirty paces ahead of him, Shion spots a grate covering a hole—a tunnel—in the Wall. The water snakes through the opening and disappears into darkness. He trudges through the thigh-deep water as coldness trickles up his spine and raises the hairs on his neck. Pressing his fingers against the metal, Shion searches for a weak spot.

He plunges his hand under the water and keeps tracing the grate, brushing aside trapped leaves and twigs. His fingers suddenly run out of metal and he can feel nothing but water running past. He prods and investigates the empty space with slow, deliberate movements. A large piece of the grate is missing, he realizes. Shion takes a deep breath before diving into the shallow waters and slipping through.

Bottlenecked in the tunnel, the water is moving even faster. It presses at his knees and ankles and calves and thighs as he fights to stand. The mud is thick. It tries to claim his shoes. The air is freezing against his wet clothes. His teeth chatter.

He’s somewhere under the west section of the Wall. That should mean West Block is probably somewhere on the other side. At least, Shion hopes.

With each step his shoes stick in the mud and he moves too slowly for his own liking in order to keep from tripping over mysterious pieces of detritus. It smells strangely clean and sterilized in the tunnel, but as soon as he’s stepped away from the grate, he can’t see anything. It’s pitch black. He keeps a hand against the side of the tunnel, tracing the grooves in the concrete with his fingernails and trying to guess how far he’s walked. Was it twenty feet or two miles?

“Nezumi?” he whispers into the darkness.

No response; not that he had expected one. The only sound he can hear is the rushing water and his own pounding heartbeat.

There’s a light in the distance, and Shion wonders if he somehow got turned around, if he’s somehow found the entrance he just left minutes—hours?—ago. It’s bright and ethereal and makes his stomach clench so he hurries towards it, worrying that it may fade if he doesn’t reach it in time.

His toe catches on something and it sends Shion flying into the water with a loud splash. He comes up gasping for air and pulls a newspaper off his head. His eyes sting and he rubs them, but that only makes them sting more. The water… is brown. It has none of the sparkling clarity it held when he first entered the tunnel. His eyes start to burn.

Maybe this was a bad idea. This was probably a terrible idea. Nezumi will yell at him, call him names, and glare when Shion finds him. But he’ll hear Nezumi’s voice, see those mercurial grey eyes; he’ll hear Nezumi’s breathing, he’ll see those eyes blink, and he’ll know Nezumi’s safe. Shion he pulls himself back to his feet, steadies himself against the wall, and forces his way towards the steadily growing light.

 

He’s greeted by another barrier: this time a set of bars instead of a grate. He runs his hand along the metal and feels slime squish between his fingers. His nose crinkles automatically.

Beyond the bars Shion can see a few buildings doused in early daylight. The light is too stark, too bright in comparison to the darkness of the tunnel.

The buildings are made of wood, the windows are boarded—he can tell that much—and they show no signs of life, except—

Someone makes a moan of protest, one loud enough for Shion to hear over the river’s howl. He squints against the sunlight in the general direction of the sound, trusting the shadows of the tunnel to conceal him.

A fist swings against someone’s ribcage and Shion’s mind creates a sickening impact his ears are unable to pick up. He can’t tell what’s going on except that two people—Men? Women? He isn’t sure—are fighting. Someone’s on the ground, but they kick the other person in the stomach and soon both of them are on their feet again, fists cocked, one with his knees apart, slightly bent, and black hair tied…

“Nezumi!” Shion says, nearly yells. He covers his mouth a second after the name slips out, but it was lost to the rushing waters anyways.

Shion wraps his hands around the bars and pulls as hard as he can. They won’t budge. He grabs another bar and pulls on it, but to no avail. He yanks on the bars in a frantic, random order, tugging them in every direction, trying to keep his eyes off Nezumi and trying to focus on getting out of the tunnel.

But he can’t look away, and he mumbles Nezumi’s name with each breath. Even as he pulls helplessly on the bars, his vision is trained on Nezumi’s punches and kicks, his dodges and lunges. The man Nezumi fights is tall, lanky, all scrawny muscle. He’s not like Nezumi. He doesn’t have the grace, he doesn’t have the skills, he doesn’t have the raw power. Nezumi can beat this guy. Nezumi will beat this guy. Shion knows this, but he bites his lip until he tastes copper to keep himself from yelling something stupid like “get away from him!”

The man hits Nezumi in the throat and Nezumi stumbles backwards, pressing his hand against the side of a building to keep from falling. Shion can’t hear anything except water but he imagines a wet cough. Nezumi is nearly doubled over for a second, his hand against his neck, until he snaps back up and prepares to swing a punch.

But he doesn’t follow through.

Instead he stands there and stares past the man, and all Shion can see are wide storm-grey eyes, somehow visible even from this far away. Nezumi’s mouth moves and he yells something, but Shion can’t hear him. He knows what word Nezumi’s saying though. Shion can recognize his own name on Nezumi’s lips and a stab of guilt racks his chest.

The man takes advantage of Nezumi’s split second distraction and kicks his legs out from under him. Nezumi is suddenly on the ground, but he rolls away before the man has a chance to pin him. Shion sees Nezumi grope for something, and there’s a lightning fast glint as something slices through the air. The man falters, stumbles backwards, and leans against the wall of the building. His shaky hand reaches for his chest, but Nezumi grabs something and pulls it away before the man’s fingers can find it. There’s a glint again, and Shion understands: knife.

The man slides down the wall and sits on the ground while Nezumi walks towards the tunnel, towards Shion. He holds a bloody knife in his hand, and his eyes are grey steel trained on Shion’s face. If Shion didn’t know Nezumi, he would have run for his life. But this teenage boy approaching him with a murderous aura makes Shion smile, close his eyes, and lean his head against the bars of the tunnel. He didn’t care there’s sludge squishing into his hair and mud pressed against his forehead.

“Shion! What the fucking hell are you fucking doing here?” Nezumi yells. Shion’s eyes snap open and he looks up. Nezumi stands in the water on the opposite side of the bars, a few feet away. Close enough that Shion could reach out and grab him if he wanted to. He doesn’t though; he doesn’t follow his impulse to make sure Nezumi is real, to make sure the blood on Nezumi’s chest isn’t his.

“I was worried when you didn’t show up!” Shion replies. Nezumi clenches his jaw and looks away, towards the man fighting to stand up. “Did you kill him? Is he going to die? What happened? Why were you fighting?”

“Shion! Shut the fuck up! This isn’t a joke! This isn’t funny—”

“I never said it was! I came to find you because I was worried and here you are, nearly getting killed by some guy—”

“I was not ‘nearly getting killed,’ you airhead! You jackass! I can fucking take care of myself and you should damn well know that by now! And you shouldn’t get your panties in a bind just because I don’t come at your every beck and motherfucking call!”

Shion takes a step back. Nezumi still holds the knife at his side and his other hand balled into a shaking fist.

“I just…”

“I don’t give a damn Shion! Do you have any god damned clue how dangerous what you’ve done is? Do you have any clue what would have happened if you were caught? They could kill you!”

“Nezumi they wouldn’t—”

“Shut your damned mouth and fucking listen to me! You don’t know what you’re even talking about! They would kill you in a second. Just like they’ll kill me if they catch me inside the walls!”

Shion puffs out his chest, ignoring the shivering cold water, and grabs the bars. He shakes them and yells, “I was worried about you! Idiot! I thought you were dead or something! I’m sorry, you jerk! You’re okay, you’re fine, I see that now! So I’ll just go back home and see you next time you feel like moseying by, okay?! And I won’t worry about the Invincible Nezumi again! The Invincible Nezumi who goes around killing people!”

Shion’s hands are shaking both from the freezing water and from his boiling blood. For some reason, Nezumi closes his eyes and a tiny smile plays across his lips. He lets out a sound half-way between a sigh and a snort. He almost lets the blade slip from his fingers.

“You’re such an airhead. Calm down, I didn’t even cut him that bad. He’ll be fine. Probably.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“You’re so eloquent when you’re mad, aren’t you? Come on, let’s get you home. You’re going to freeze to death.”

“No I’m not.”

“Your teeth are chattering.”

“That’s because I’m mad.”

“Liar.”

“Can’t I just… stay here? I’m already here. I can sleep on your floor or something. And…see where you live.”

Nezumi’s gaze hardens and he bares his teeth for a second. His grip on the bloody knife tightens.

“Are you an idiot?” he says through gritted teeth, “Are you fucking insane? You think I would let you step foot here? This is the closest you’re ever getting, you fucking idiot. You’ll get killed.”

Shion narrows his eyes and steps aside as Nezumi casually twists one of the bars until it pops out of place. He squeezes through the gap, somehow making it through such a tight space with ease and angry grace.

“I’m taking you back home right now, and you’re never coming here again. Do you hear me? Promise me.”

“No, I’ll come here if I—”

“No you fucking won’t. You’ll get us both killed. Now say it. Say it or I will slit your throat right here.”

“No you won’t.”

“Do you want to test that?”

Shion is tempted to test it. Instead, he nods.

“Promise?”

“Yes, unless—”

“No unlesses. I don’t care if you think it’s an emergency, I don’t care if you think I’m dying. You don’t come here ever, you got that? Ever. You wouldn’t last here, and there’s nothing you could do to help me even if I was dying. Got that?”

Shion nods and watches Nezumi screw the bar back into place. That bubbling elation Shion felt when Nezumi walked away from the fight, when Nezumi stepped towards him, slips away with the waters he stands in. But still…

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Shion says. Nezumi does not answer.

They walk through the tunnel in silence. Shion can’t see anything so he walks with his hand against the wall again. He can hear the splashes of Nezumi’s confident footsteps ahead of him. Shion mumbles angry wordless sounds under his breath, but he can’t help but to notice that a weight in his chest, which he didn’t even realize was there in the first place, is gone. His teeth chatter and his hands shake and he can’t feel his toes, but for some reason the tunnel doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

The pinprick of light in the distance shows up so much sooner than Shion expected. He hurries towards it, and Nezumi seems to pick up the pace as well. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his pants and he looks straight ahead at the end of the tunnel, unlike Shion who keeps his eyes trained on the water to avoid any obstacles and trained on Nezumi’s back.

“Is this how you usually come into the city?” Shion asks. Nezumi seems so familiar with the path, not tripping or faltering once even in the thigh-deep water.

“No,” Nezumi said simply.

“So there are other ways?”

“Lots.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m not going to tell you any of them.”

Shion frowns but keeps walking. Nezumi splashes forward in silence as well.

When they reach the exit, Shion makes to dive into the water and through the hole at the bottom of the grate. Nezumi presses his hand against Shion’s chest, stopping him, and holds a finger up to his mouth. Shion stands still, shivering in his wet clothes, while Nezumi leans against the wall of the tunnel, trying to work with the curves of the architecture to get the best idea of what’s waiting past the grate.

“I think the coast is clear. I’m going through first. You only follow if I say so.”

“What do I do if you don’t say so?”

“Say nothing no matter what they do or I do, and hide. I’ll come back for your stupid ass.”

Shion says nothing and watches as Nezumi disappears into the raging water. A second later his head pops up on the opposite side of the grate. Nezumi’s long fingers shove his messy hair out of his eyes and he sinks back down so only his eyes are above water.

Finally, he waves casually at Shion and sits up so the water level rests at his shoulders.

Shion nods and plunges into the water, fighting against the current. The water—though it’s not the muddy brown muck at the other end—still stings his eyes, but he pulls himself over to the other side.

He doesn’t stand up but instead crouches in the water so only his head was above the surface. He watches Nezumi and waits for him to make a decision. Water drips down Nezumi’s cheeks and hangs from the wild hair that frames his face.

“I can make it home from here,” Shion says quietly as he looks around. The area is completely empty except for them.

“No you can’t. You’ll pass out from exhaustion and freeze to death halfway there.”

“That’s not true,” Shion mumbles. He does feel very tired though. His bones feel rubbery and his joints loose. Shion looks up at the sky. What time is it? Seven-am at least. His mother is probably worried sick. What on earth is he going to say to her? He glances over at Nezumi, who is still looking around, eyes narrowed. Is this a safe time of day for Nezumi to be sneaking into the city?

“Let’s go,” Nezumi says, standing up and climbing up the river bank. He sits on the grass and looks around some more while Shion climbs up to join him. Shion collapses on the grass, wishing the sun on his skin and clothes is as warm as it looks.

“No sleeping, not in wet clothes. Get up.”

Shion struggles to his feet, nearly slipping back down the bank. Nezumi doesn’t offer a hand to help him, not that Shion expected him to.

“Let’s go,” Nezumi says, “…And you’ve got some mud. On your forehead.”

Shion wipes it away with the sleeve of his sopping wet cardigan and looks to Nezumi, who nods before walking away from the river.

They travel through back alleys Shion has never been in, even climbing someone’s fire escape ladder at one point to cross a building’s roof. Shion follows without question, well aware that Nezumi knows how to avoid detection better than he does. It’s strange, knowing that Nezumi’s more familiar with No. 6 than Shion himself is.

They exit an alleyway and enter into a small courtyard. There are a few people around, but they don’t seem to notice the two dripping wet boys. Nezumi’s slouching, with his hands in his pockets. To anyone who glances at them, they look like two regular teenagers, maybe returned from standard youth shenanigans like a water-balloon fight. Nezumi looks relaxed. Nezumi doesn’t look dangerous. They don’t see the knife he still holds in his hand, the blade tucked into the sleeve of his jacket and hilt cradled in his palm. They don’t see him twitch and flinch at every movement. They don’t see him, they don’t notice him, the way Shion does.

The two pass through the courtyard without incident and move towards a small park housing only a fountain, a few bushes, and some playground equipment. Nezumi holds his hand up and presses it against Shion’s chest, pushing him back towards the courtyard and keeping him in the shadows of the archway. The warmth of Nezumi’s hand blossoms across his skin despite the layers of wet clothes between them and Shion’s breathing suddenly doesn’t feel right. But then Nezumi pulls away and steps into the park. Shion stands shivering in the icy shadows while Nezumi glances around. For a second, he’s jealous of the summer sun on Nezumi’s skin in a way he can’t quite understand.

“Stop. Let’s see some identification,” a voice says. Before Shion even registers the words Nezumi is back and he feels a swift kick to his shins and scratches on his face as he falls and lands in a bush. He holds in a gasp and peeks up to see Nezumi standing over him.

“Identification,” the voice repeats. Louder. Angrier. And then Nezumi’s gone.

Shion doesn’t move. Shion doesn’t breathe. Shion doesn’t blink. He can hear frantic footsteps and that same voice yelling, screaming, “Stop! This is the Security Bureau!” A few second later another person runs past, and she moves close enough for Shion to recognize her uniform, confirming what he already knew. Security Bureau. He can’t find any air in his lungs.

Shion repositions himself in the bushes, wincing as he moves his leg. Nezumi kicked him, Nezumi tripped him, Nezumi… hid him. Shion bites his lip and pulls his knees up to his chest.

This is his fault.

Nezumi’s going to get caught and it’s his fault.

Shion doesn’t hear anyone else running past and can’t even see anyone from where he is. So he stands up and looks around. He’s breathing hard; gasping. There isn’t enough air in the entire city to quench the burning need in his lungs. The park looks the same, like nothing had ever happened. Like Nezumi was never there. Shion turns in his place, clutching his hands against his chest.

He looks down at the pavement and sees wet footprints heading out of the park. He follows them until they’ve all dried and disappeared in the morning sun.

The streets aren’t empty anymore. Shion looks around, looking for someone who has seen anything. People don’t seem to notice him, they just continue with their window shopping. They don’t see a dripping wet, wide-eyed boy. He wants to ask, “did anyone see a young man with a ponytail run through here? He was probably soaking wet and being chased by the Security Bureau,” but thinks better of it. If he says anything, they could know. They could know that he was with Nezumi, if they didn’t already. Nezumi had tried to hide him. Shion takes a deep breath. Nezumi’s words, “I can fucking take care of myself,” crass though they were, echo in Shion’s ears. Yes. Nezumi can take care of himself. Shion has to trust him.

He looks around. He doesn’t even know where to go other than home. He begins walking, his hands shaking from everything but the cold.

 

Three days later and Shion’s window squeaks open at twelve-fifteen-am. He takes a sharp intake of breath and realizes it felt like he hadn’t been breathing for over seventy-two hours.

“You didn’t get caught?” Shion asks without sitting up. He stares at the colorless ceiling instead. He doesn’t want to look over to where Nezumi is probably, hopefully, standing; he doesn’t want confirmation that he imagined the sound of his window opening.

But the ladder on his bunk bed squeaks and Shion rolls over to face Nezumi, who rests his chin on Shion’s mattress and holds onto the edges of the wooden bed frame with those long, elegant, powerful fingers.

“Of course I didn’t.”

Shion closes his eyes and smiles. A sharp pain jerks through his nose as Nezumi pinches it—hard—and Shion pulls away, snorting.

“What was that for?!”

“I told you not to worry about me, airhead. I can take care of myself.”

Shion glares at him before rolling onto his back to glare at the ceiling instead. His breathing is so much easier, though, that he can’t keep glaring for long.

“I’m still going to worry about you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But you’re my friend. My best friend. My only friend, unless you want to count Safu. I’m going to worry about you.” But something about the word “friend” didn’t feel right, Shion realizes right as he says it. The word is sticky on his tongue; it doesn’t fit the same way it did when they were twelve. Shion swallows but the sticky feeling doesn’t go away. It’s like saying “lightning bug” when you mean “lightning.” Who said that? Nezumi, Shion remembers. He was quoting someone else, but Nezumi told that to Shion once. The words echo in his mind.

Nezumi doesn’t reply, but Shion can imagine the glare he’s on the receiving end of right now. He can’t see those thunderstorm-grey eyes boring into him, but Shion can feel them. His heart pounds and he doesn’t have the words to explain why.

Shion hears the ladder squeak as Nezumi drops off it and the sighing of the mattress on the bunk below his as Nezumi lies down.

“His royal highness should get some sleep.”

“G’night, Nezumi.” The words are warm and welcome in his mouth. He has never felt happier to say them before.

THE END


	12. Breaking in a New Computer (Age 16)

There is a very expensive piece of technology sitting next to Shion’s pillow. It looks like a closed book, but Shion remembers these computers. “Mom?”

“Yes, Shion?”

“Why is there a laptop on my bed?”

“Oh!” Karan comes down the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron. “A customer dropped that off! He had a tab going at the bakery and he said he could give me a laptop as payment! I told him his tab wasn’t that expensive, but he insisted. I thought it could help you with you schoolwork.”

Shion wonders to himself why someone would pay for bread with a laptop, then wonders if it has something to do with how friendly Karan is towards everyone. “Thank you, Mom. It’ll help a lot.”

He opens a few word documents and tests whether his neighbor’s Wi-Fi will stretch all the way to his basement room. It does. Shion blinks at the search engine, then pulls his botany textbook towards himself and flips to a tree whose Latin name had stumped him recently. He starts checking whether his Latin guesses have been correct so far.

 

“What’s that?”

Shion jumps and looks around. “Nezumi? What time is it? You shouldn’t be here in the daylight, it isn’t safe!”

“It’s nighttime,” Nezumi says. “It’s almost eleven. What time do you think it is?”

Shion stares at the little clock in the corner of the computer screen. “Wow. Oh jeez. Where did all my time go? I have homework to finish.”

“No you don’t,” Nezumi says. “You’re working three weeks in advance. You’re fine. Did you get stuck on Wikipedia?”

“No! Maybe,” Shion says, trying to close the window.

“What the hell is a fraxinus? It sounds dirty,” Nezumi laughs.

“It isn’t! It’s a flowering plant from the olive and lilac family!”

“You’ve honestly spent this whole time looking at plants? You haven’t tried to look at… you know, anything else?”

“Well, I was on Google Translate for a while,” Shion says, “but their Latin was terrible.”

“Seriously. You haven’t tried to look up anything more interesting?” Nezumi sits down next to Shion and grabs the laptop. “You’re gonna need to charge this, the battery is in the red.”

Shion looks around for the laptop cord and sees it coiled at the end of the bed. He has to hunt around the walls for an outlet close to his bed, then he plugs it in and turns to find Nezumi smirking at the computer screen.

“Did you lose my page?” Shion grabs the laptop and frowns at it. “What’s this?” After a long pause, he slowly turns very red. “Nezumi… what… what did you look up?”

“I searched ‘tits,’ among other things,” Nezumi says. “I had to wade through some bird pictures, but I did find those for you. We had to break in your new laptop!”

“What do you mean by that?”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “Were you not planning on surfing for porn?”

“This is porn?” Shion says, sitting down and starting to click through everything Nezumi has searched. “Wait, what are they doing?”

“You’re serious. You have never seen this before.” Nezumi stares at Shion with complete amazement, then hits the ‘play’ button. “They’re having sex.”

“Oh my goodness.” Shion drops the laptop on the bed like it’s suddenly burning him, then moves to close the lid on all the porn. Nezumi swats his hand away and hits a button that turns on the volume. 

Gasps and moans fill the room, overlapping each other. Shion’s shriek of horror is lost in the sounds of wet slapping. “Turn this off!”

“Why? You’re just going to turn it back on later,” Nezumi laughs.

“This is making me uncomfortable,” Shion says, covering his ears. “What’s he doing to her?”

“I can switch it up if you don’t like this one,” Nezumi says, clicking through his tabs. New noises take over the room, including the sound of an egg beater.

Shion tries to cover his eyes as well as his ears. “No, I don’t like this. How do you even know about this kind of stuff?” Shion peeks through his fingers at Nezumi. “Have you done things like this?”

Nezumi starts scrolling, but he mercifully mutes the laptop. “No, nothing like this. This is kinky shit right here. I haven’t done stuff like… that, for example.” He turns the screen, grinning.

Shion moves to close the laptop again, but then pauses. “Like this? But… Have you had sex then?”

Nezumi is digging through the tabs again. He frowns at what he sees on the laptop screen, then turns it towards Shion once more. “Okay, now that’s just unsafe unless you have a lot of lube. And I mean a lot.”

Shion covers his eyes again. “How do you know that?”

Nezumi shrugs and flips tabs. “Okay, that’s not your cup of tea. How about this?”

“I’m not looking anymore,” Shion says. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“I’ll answer your question if you look at this,” Nezumi says. “Why are you scared? It’s just porn.”

“It’s indecent,” Shion says, pulling his hands away from his face and opening one eye a crack. “And if my mom found out—”

“Don’t let your mom search your browser history,” Nezumi says. “You’re a teenage guy, she probably expects this.”

“Don’t say that,” Shion says. “Please.” He frowns at the screen. “How is that—“

“I told you, a lot of lube.”

“What’s lube?”

“Lu-bri-ca-tion,” Nezumi sighs, enunciating every syllable. “Do you want me to spell it for you? I don’t know the Latin root…”

Shion isn’t listening. He’s staring at the screen as if mesmerized. After a few moments, he tilts his head to one side. Then he turns very red and pulls his knees up to his chest. “Are you going to tell me how you know about this?”

“I mean, I’ve done some of this,” Nezumi says. 

Shion looks away from the laptop at that. “Really? With whom?”

Nezumi shrugs again. “I don’t know all their names.”

Shion quietly says, “All?”

“It’s just sex,” Nezumi says. “You… you do know how that works, right? Has Karan talked to you about that?”

“I mean… I know the theory,” Shion says. “She talked about changing bodies a lot. And feelings. And… the mechanics.”

“Okay, so she didn’t tell you anything useful. Got it.”

“I know about anatomy!” Shion insists.

Nezumi opens a new tab. “Okay, this is your education I guess. Let’s start at the beginning. This,” he types something into the search bar, “is the missionary position, the most boring and pretty much the least pleasurable position.”

“There are different positions?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Nezumi searches again and pulls up a Wikipedia page. “Here, this is your homework. It’s academic enough to hold your interest, I think. It’s called the Kama Sutra. It’s not always completely physically possible but it’s a good starter guide.”

“Where did you hear about the Kama Sutra?”

“It’s kind of the standard textbook,” Nezumi smirks. 

“What do you mean, standard textbook? Did you take classes?”

“I learn more by doing.” Nezumi turns the computer’s sound back on.

Shion stares at his knees. “Oh, right.” There is a silence between them, broken only by the moans and the smacking noises and, again, the egg beater. Then Shion looks up. “What’s it like?”

“Jeez, someone’s curious today,” Nezumi says, hitting mute again. “It’s okay, I guess. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“The circumstances.”

“What do you mean? What circumstances does this happen under?”

“For you? None, apparently.” Nezumi turns the laptop towards Shion again. “Don’t actually try this with a carrot, you will have problems getting it out.”

“How did it get in— You didn’t answer my question!”

“I don’t need to, this isn’t about me. Now, if you’re gonna do this kinda thing, you’re gonna need condoms. You know what a condom is, right?”

“I know I need them…”

“They’re really important, you need to know more about them than just theory. Can you even get those in No. 6, or are they controlling your sex life as well?”

“I think I can get them, but I don’t really have any plans to—”

“Don’t you have plans to get lunch with that girl next week?”

Shion blushes furiously. “Safu? We’re… we were just friends! I haven’t seen her in four years!”

“You’ve grown up a lot since then,” Nezumi points out. “You’re not a little kid anymore. You have to start worrying about this kind of stuff. If you have trouble getting condoms here, let me know and I’ll smuggle some for you and that chick.”

“I’m not going to sleep with Safu!”

“You say that now, but just wait. Your mom told you about the feelings, right?” Nezumi is grinning.

“Hormones and stuff? Yeah.”

“Good, you know about how stupid all those brain chemicals make you then. Just don’t make any sudden decisions. Don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I taught you to fight with a knife to keep bullies from hurting you. Those skills can come in handy in other situations as well. At least, I tried to teach you to fight. Do you even own a knife?”

“We have bread knives and butter knives. Nezumi, I don’t ever want to have to hurt someone.”

“Better them than you. I guess you’ll be safe as long as you don’t come to West Block.”

Shion blinks. “Oh. Um. Yeah. Are… are you saying things are dangerous in West Block in… that way?”

“West Block’s dangerous in a lot of ways. Do you guys have any food upstairs? I’m hungry. That’s why I came over in the first place.”

“Has something happened to you, Nezumi?”

Nezumi stares at the computer for a moment, eyes unfocused. “Shion, I’m allowed to have a personal life that doesn’t involve you.”

Shion stands suddenly, almost whacking his head on the top bunk, and goes upstairs without another word. His breathing isn’t entirely normal, jerking every now and then as if he’s crushing down some sadness. When he comes back with a loaf of bread and some cheese, Nezumi has shut down the laptop. They eat together in silence. Nezumi does not stay the night.

 

The next night the window is shut, but Nezumi can see the dim glow of the computer and he picks the lock on the window anyway. He leans in through the window, then pauses when he hears heavy breathing.

“Shion, what are you doing with your laptop?”

“HOLY SHIT NEZUMI, GET OUT!” The laptop slams.

“What were you doing?”

“Oh my god…”

“What were you doing, Shion?”

“Leave, please.”

“I don’t feel like leaving. I walked all the way from West Block and you’re going to kick me out, just because I caught you—”

“Shut up!”

“I’m not leaving. I’m sleeping here.”

“Fine. Fine. Just… give me a minute to clean up.”

There is a bark of laughter. “How long was that computer on?”

“Nezumi!”

“All right, all right. …What kind were you watching?”

“I-I’m not going to answer that.”

THE END


	13. Reunion Will Come (End)

The world was newmade, tarnishing already. Eve walked bare through grasses that were waist-high and still soft. Twigs and pinecones had not yet fallen. They had not had time. 

Eve wandered nowhere in particular. There was not much to do except appreciate how fresh everything was. There was a gleam to everything because none of it had existed before. Not even Eve. But now Eve was here, and alone, and he did not care.

“Oh, hi!”

Eve looked around. There was a tree in a clearing, which was unusual. The forests were thick and densely packed. This tree looked as if all the other plants had retreated from it. The tree was a strange, white pillar with twisted roots and tall, pale branches that stretched up into white leaves. In a world of color and light, it was bizarrely monochrome. Eve walked toward it slowly, pushing grasses aside.

Something the color of a ruby shone for a moment in the depths of the leaves.

“What are you?” Eve demanded.

There was a rustling. A red snake uncoiled from the treetop, head lowering until it was level with Eve’s eyes. The snake had no end. It was a part of the tree, perhaps. Perhaps it was simply an unusually long, thin snake that had tucked its tail away somewhere and lost it. “Um. Nothing much. Just a guardian.”

“Why are you talking to me? Nothing here talks.”

“I don’t know, you were just walking by and I thought I’d introduce myself.” 

“What are you guarding?” Eve asked, looking around.

“This tree.”

“What’s so special about it?”

The snake smiled. The inside of its mouth was pure white, and it had no fangs. “Did He tell you about the forbidden tree?”

Eve stepped closer and rested a hand on the bark. “Yeah. So this is it?”

The snake nodded, its entire body rippling with the movement. “This is it.”

“And you guard it? Who’re you keeping it from?”

The snake swayed side to side, a thoughtful look on its face. Eve noticed its eyes were as red as its body. “Not really keeping it from anyone, really. Actually, I’m supposed to get you to eat some of its fruit.”

Eve backed away. “Oh really?”

“I’m not going to force you to try it!” The snake was shocked. “I just thought you should know. I mean, that’s the whole point of the tree.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the tree of knowledge. Well, He actually said it was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but I don’t really care about that last bit. It’s mostly just a tree of knowledge.” The snake nodded. “Knowledge isn’t really good or evil, you know.”

Eve frowned. “What is it then?”

“It’s just knowledge. However you use it, that can be good or evil. Knowledge is neutral.”

Eve eyed the tree. “Hm. I do want to know some things.”

The snake lowered itself further and cocked its head to the side. “Really? Like what?”

“Where I came from. Why I’m here. What I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Oooh, the big ones.” The snake smiled again. “That’s not really the kind of knowledge it provides.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What good is it then?”

The snake took a breath. “You are solitary here, right? You’re alone?”

Eve frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever met anyone like you?”

Eve blinked. “No. I haven’t. I’ve seen a lot of animals here, sometimes alone but usually in packs. But I’ve never seen anything like me.”

“There is an alternative. The tree provides this.”

Eve looked at the tree carefully. “That’s a strange thing for a tree to teach about.”

“Well, it’s all a bit metaphorical anyway.”

“I thought it might be,” Eve said. “All right, I’m curious. How do I get up there?”

“Here. I can lift you up.” The snake began to encircle Eve with its body, but Eve ducked out of the loop and backed away.

“I don’t think so. I don’t need your help.”

“You aren’t tall enough to reach,” the snake pointed out. “This isn’t an easy tree to climb for a reason. It’s supposed to be forbidden, remember?”

“Mmhmm.” Eve looked at the ground for a moment, then looked up. “Here, let me step on your head.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Let me step on your head. That’ll get me closer to a branch.”

The snake sighed. “Sheesh, this is shameful.”

“Oh, quit whining.” Eve held one foot off the ground and eyed the closest limb. “Ready?”

The snake unspooled until it was hovering beneath Eve’s foot. “I guess—”

Eve stamped down and launched himself, latching onto the branch and not letting go even as he slammed into the trunk of the tree. His feet scrabbled at the bark until he felt the snake under his feet again, like a living twig. Eve pushed off and hauled himself over the branch.

“Would have been easier if you’d just let me lift you,” the snake grumbled, drifting upwards as it recoiled into the tree. It nodded its head at what looked like an albino pear. “Here’s one, over here.”

“One what?” Eve asked, wiping blood off his legs where the tree’s bark cut him.

“The fruit.”

Eve squints. “Are you sure this is safe?”

The snake blinked at him slowly. “It won’t make you sick.”

Eve reached out a hand and twisted the pear until it popped off the branch and sat heavy in his hand. There was a faint fuzz on the skin, and Eve breathed in the smell of it before he took a bite. It smelled like thunderstorms and green growing things after rain. It tasted sweet. Its flesh was a strange purple.

Eve knew he was alone. He had known it, but for the first time he thought, There is no one for me to talk to about existence. There is no one to remember me. There is no one for me to hold or to hold me. There is no one to laugh with. There is no one who will care when I am gone.

He took another bite, because he had begun this quest for knowledge and he was going to see it through. 

Eve knew what death was. It was a cessation of being. It was the ending of something unique. It was the loss of memories and a perspective on the world. It was loneliness.

He took a third bite and realized he was crying when the taste of the fruit was more salt than sweetness.

Eve knew he was wrong. No one else in the world was like him. No one else had a name; stood on two legs with two arms and only patches of hair; or spoke the way he did, in his own tongue. He looked down at the fruit. There seemed to be so much of it left. It had healed over where he bit it, regenerating new harsh truths. 

Eve let it drop to the ground and covered his face with his hands.

There was a faint cough from the snake. “Um.”

Eve shook his head, eyes still hidden. “Fuck you. That was… That isn’t knowledge. That’s torture.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What was the point of that? Why would you want to teach me about loneliness?” Eve pulled his face out of his hands and screamed, “It was forbidden for a reason!” Then he stopped. 

Standing below him was another human being. He was as pale as the tree where Eve was still perched, and a mark as red as the snake wound around him. He had one hand buried in his hair and he looked as miserable as Eve felt.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Eve snapped, heart hammering. He swung himself out of the tree and landed in a crouch front of the other human, coming up with his hands fisted.

“I’m really sorry,” the human said, and Eve blinked.

“You sound like the snake,” he whispered.

“I kind of am,” the human said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“I’m the other side,” the other human said. “I’m the opposite of loneliness. I’m companionship.”

And Eve said, “I don’t know what that fucking means.”

And the other human smiled at him suddenly and said, “That’s okay, you’ll learn.”

 

And Nezumi wakes, alone, curled on the floor of what had once been his forest. He hears the wind in the trees, just like all of his oldest memories. He feels the grass, tall enough to cover him. Unlike the landscape of his dream, though, this forest had suffered. The trees have only had twelve years to regrow. There are ragged saplings sprouting from the charred, collapsing bodies of the old giants. He looks around at it all. It’s not what he remembers. He doesn’t remember a lot, admittedly, because he had been what, four? He was young and it was something he had to forget about in order to keep moving. Now he’s trying to bring it back. All because a fucking golden wasp showed up and…

Does he owe her? Is that why he is back here? Is he trying to thank her for saving Shion? 

It just felt right to come back. It felt like a pilgrimage. It was the opportunity for closure. Really, though, now that he sees the state of the Eden that haunted his nightmares, it feels like his connection to this place was severed when he watched it burn and heard his family screaming while Nezumi fled. He’d had a different name here, and he’d been a child. He hasn’t felt like a child since then. He’s felt like a machine. Everything he did was to survive and gather information. Now, though, all his information-gathering has come to an end. It’s been months since he’s had to worry about No. 6 finding him. It’s a mass of rubble now, though he had to admit that it still looked cleaner than West Block when he’d turned his back on that fucking city and its fucking problems and… He’d turned his back on Shion, too.

Nezumi sits up and pinches the bridge of his nose hard. The dream is fragments now, images of red on white and lessons learned, but Nezumi can’t remember the lessons. Emptiness and a sense of smallness, that’s all he can conjure. The loneliness had only vanished when someone else had… had… Shit.

Nezumi has read a lot of books. Shakespeare used symbolism like a sledgehammer sometimes and like a feather duster other times, and Nezumi can read between the lines on both kinds of metaphors. Dream interpretation isn’t a difficult next step. The theme is staring right at him, albino, with red eyes and a warm smile. 

“Fucking stupid,” Nezumi mumbles, laying back down. He shuts his eyes. The wind rustles the trees. It sounds like annoyance. 

The ground is harder than Shion’s bunkbed. Dreams are darker here. There is a sadness to this place that is almost crippling. This isn’t home anymore. 

Nezumi stands. He takes one last breath in what once was his forest. Then he shoulders his backpack and starts walking. He has a ways to go until he makes it home. After the first few silent miles, after he leaves the forest and its dead behind him, he starts to hum. Then he starts to sing.

 

Shion drops his shoulder bag beside his mother’s chair so he can kiss her cheek. She’s chatting with Inukashi and bouncing the baby that Inukashi insists is named Shion because that’s who’s to blame for giving Inukashi another goddamn mouth to feed. Inukashi is consuming food like there’s still not enough to go around. 

Karan smiles at her son. “Long day?”

Shion nods. “Everyone still thinks I know what happened.”

“You do, though,” Karan winks.

“They don’t have to know all the details. Besides, Inukashi was there and doesn’t even believe half of it.”

Inukashi swallows half a muffin and glares at him. “I believe a lot of it! I saw you—” Inukashi pauses, glancing at Karan “—get hurt, after all. And then you were fine! That’s pretty damn weird. I just don’t think a giant bee possessed your old girlfriend.”

“Safu.”

“Bless you.” Inukashi engulfs a small pie.

“Her name was— never mind,” Shion sighs. “Mom, I’m going to bed.”

Karan checks the sky outside. It’s already dark, but it’s wintertime. That doesn’t mean anything. She leans back to check the bakery clock instead. It reads just past 8pm. “So early?”

“I’m tired.”

Karan frowns. “Are you still having bad dreams?”

Shion considers before he nods. The dreams aren’t nightmares exactly, because he can’t remember them when he wakes up. He just knows that he was dead. He dies in his dreams, over and over, and then he experiences whatever came next. It leaves him feeling lonely. He doesn’t crawl into Karan’s room like he did when he was child, though. He doesn’t want his mother to know that he almost didn’t make it back alive. 

“It’ll be okay,” Karan tells him, but baby Shion wakes up then and starts wailing. Karan makes a soothing noise while Inukashi finishes off the pie and burps.

“Pass him,” Inukashi says. Karan hands baby Shion over, a hand supporting his head. Inukashi drags him in and smirks as the baby immediately quiets down. “Still dunno why he does that. Maybe when he starts talking he can tell us.”

“He loves you,” Karan says. Inukashi winces and starts to explain why that’s a stupid idea. Shion leaves them to it and staggers down the stairs. He rolls himself into bed fully dressed. His clothes won’t be pristine for the meeting tomorrow, but fashion isn’t as important as being warm. The workers still can’t get heat to this part of the city and the basement holds the chill more than the warm bakery upstairs, where the ovens are almost always running.

He hears his mother knock on his door, then open it. “Shion, sorry, you forgot your—” Karan stops. 

Shion rolls over and blinks at her. “Hmm?”

“I thought you slept in the top bunk.”

“Oh.” Shion rolls again so his back is to the door. “The bottom bunk was closer.”

Karan is silent. Shion feels his face heating up. His mom is always hard to fool. He listens to her set down his bag gently, knowing Shion’s computer is inside, and then she closes his door. She stands outside it for a long moment before he hears her on the stairs. She and Inukashi talk some more. Shion tries to sleep.

Noises seem loud tonight, his thoughts even louder. He has a million things to do to improve the new city, which some people want to call West Six and others want to call Number Block but most want to call something new. Shion doesn’t have any good ideas on that one. He remembers a city called Venice where a merchant lived, or a city called Verona where two friends parted and two star-crossed lovers met at a party, but those cities aren’t real. They were settings in plays. The new city has to be somewhere real. Shion thinks about this for an hour or two, growing more and more delirious but no closer to sleep. Insomnia is new. He thinks it’s his mind’s way of avoiding the bad dreams. 

Shion can feel himself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he hears a creak. It takes his body a painfully long time to realize that he’s in danger. Adrenaline only kicks in when he feels pressure at his back, the sense that someone is trying to grab him from behind. He rolls out of bed, hits the floor on all fours, spins to face the culprit, and punches at the pale face that has crept to the edge of his bed. He’s about to scream for Karan to run for it when he hears a soft, sarcastic voice saying, “I’m amazed. I taught you something after all.”

Shion feels his heartbeat throughout his entire body. “Nezumi?”

“Yeah. Shit, that almost made my nose bloody.” Nezumi checks his upper lip. “Yeah, almost. You gotta practice punching some more.”

“Nezumi?”

Nezumi looks up at him, still crouching on the bottom bunk. “Yeah?”

“Am I dreaming this?”

“Um.” Nezumi looks confused for a moment until sarcasm replaces it. “Do you often dream about me?”

“Well… no,” Shion admits. It surprised him at first. Shion thought that all he would be able to remember was Nezumi. Instead, he remembers dying. Even if it made him feel the absence like never before, Shion would rather dream of Nezumi than death. 

Nezumi sits back, keeping his head ducked so it doesn’t hit the underside of the top bunk. He does this with dignity somehow, and a long-suffering expression. “I’m heartbroken. Why’re you still living in your mom’s basement?”

“The new center of town is close and I don’t want her living alone,” Shion says. “Why are you here?” Nezumi looks as if he doesn’t want to answer many questions. Too bad. Shion needs a lot of answers.

“I came from the forest,” Nezumi says finally. “I had to see it.”

Shion bites his lip. “Oh. How was it?”

Nezumi is looking at something far away, though it seems like he’s just staring at the wall. “I wanted to see what had happened. I wanted to see if it was the same as I remembered… It was stupid. Of course it changed.” Nezumi frowns at himself. “Idiot.”

“So why did you come back?” Shion asks after a silent moment. 

Nezumi blinks and refocuses on him. “It didn’t feel… It wasn’t home anymore.”

“Okay, so now what? Are you going to try and find somewhere new to call home?”

Nezumi has a faint line between his eyebrows. He doesn’t look like he’s going to answer. Shion feels like so much time has passed. Nezumi doesn’t know that Shion had to put a city back together, reveal harsh truths and keep other ones a secret. Shion had to tell the world what had happened at No. 6 so it would not happen again, and he’s still not sure the world is listening to him or the people of West Block that he asks to tell their stories. Shion is lying and speaking out for the people of what used to be No. 6. Nezumi set out to destroy something that Shion is attempting to reconstruct. Maybe he’s back to do it again…

“I came back because this,” Nezumi waves a hand that takes in the four walls around them, the bunk bed behind them, the window that Shion never brought himself to lock, the bakery upstairs, and Shion himself, “is home. I like it here.”

“Even though it’s No. 6.” Shion’s heart is beating very loudly.

“It’s not No. 6 anymore. It’s gonna be something else. I don’t know what yet, but it will be.” Nezumi shrugs, then clears his throat. “Um.”

Shion realizes that Nezumi is uncomfortable. This is new. “What?”

“Is. Um. Is it okay if I stay here?”

Shion raises his eyebrows. “You never asked before. Why now?”

“I mean. Stay here for…more than one night. I don’t have to, I can find—”

Shion sighs and Nezumi stops talking. There is snow still frozen in Nezumi’s hair and on the shoulders of his jacket. Shion brushes it away, then leaves his hands on Nezumi’s shoulders. “Yes, you can stay.”

It’s a hello kiss this time.

 

_five years ago_

 

Karan kisses him on the top of his head, her smile exhausted but her eyes still loving. “Good night, Shion. Sleep well.”

“You too.” Shion holds on to the wall to make sure he doesn’t tumble down the steep stairs. They’re going to take some getting used to. A lot of things are going to take some getting used to. He has a new school where the books are actual books, not computer screens, and he’s already seen more crudely drawn pictures of human genitalia than he’s viewed in his life. The plant genitalia is ten years out of date. Shion tried to correct it but the teacher told him not to draw in the textbooks. There are a lot of mixed signals in his new school.

The bakery is new, too. His mother had sat in their hotel room, looked him in the eye, and said, “Did you help that boy?”

Shion said, “Yes.” He did not cry and he did not apologize. He was very careful to do neither. He can’t feel regret for what he did.

“All right,” Karan said. “We were living on your scholarships but I’m going to have to get a job now. Help me think, what am I good at?”

That was the only conversation they ever have about Nezumi, or VC103221 as she probably knows him. Karan called a few people; took Shion with her to talk quietly with several solemn, well-dressed bankers; and they bought the bakery the next day. Shion is sleeping on a mattress on the floor, trying to figure out what his life is going to be like now. It’s thrilling, actually. No. 6 no longer has a plan for him. Shion doesn’t have a plan either, admittedly, but at least he has the possibility of coming up with one on his own. He brushes his teeth and puts on his pajamas, then lies on his mattress on the floor and thinks about what he can do now that No. 6 does not own him.

There is a tapping noise. Shion looks around, then realizes that it’s coming from his window. He lies back down, but the tapping continues. A quiet voice mutters, “Hey,” muffled through the glass.

Shion leaps out of bed and yanks the window open. “Nezumi!”

“Sh! Keep it down!” Nezumi looks behind him, then crams his legs through the window, almost kicking Shion in the head. Shion tries to grab his knees to help him out, but Nezumi purposefully kicks him in the head this time. Shion backs away, holding his throbbing cheek. Nezumi lands on all fours and spins to face Shion, eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing way out here?”

“We had to move,” Shion says, grinning at the fact that this boy made it back alive. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again! How are you? Is it bad, still running from the authorities?”

“I’m fine,” Nezumi says shortly. He’s peering into the corners of the room now. “Is this a dungeon?”

“It’s the basement to my mom’s new bakery,” Shion laughs. 

“Dingy. Anyway, I um.” Nezumi stops and frowns. He doesn’t seem to know what to say next.

“Do you have somewhere to stay now?” Shion asks after a moment.

“What? Yeah! I do!” Nezumi is defensive now, glaring at Shion.

Shion raises his hands, trying to keep the other boy’s anger at bay. “Okay! Okay! I just wondered if you wanted to stay here!”

“I don’t need your fucking charity,” Nezumi spits. “I’m fine on my own.” He darts back to the window.

“Language,” Shion says, and then adds, “My window’s always open” as Nezumi hauls himself over the windowsill. 

Nezumi pauses for a moment, twists around so he can see Shion, then says, “Okay.” He slides back in. His bare feet slap the concrete floor. “I just have to rest for a bit. It’s a long walk back. This’ll do for tonight. I’ll be out of here in the morning, though.”

“Never worry about that,” Shion says, but Nezumi shakes his head and drags Shion’s discarded sweatervest and jeans into a pile. He curls up in a ball and sighs. Shion watches him in puzzlement, then lies down on his own mattress. He listens to the sound of another person falling into unconsciousness beside him, and drifts to sleep with a faint smile on his face.

THE END


End file.
